


Oashisu no Sakura

by Igot2peedou



Category: Naruto
Genre: BAMF Ino, BAMF Sakura, Clans, Divorce, Friendship, Mental Instability, Other, Psychological Trauma, Revenge, Rivalry, Suna Sakura, Suna!Sakura, The Sand - Freeform, Torture, aka Sakura no Oashisu, bad ass sakura, bamf everyone eventually, child soldiers getting interrogated, female character growth, friendships, lets get it bitches, mixed nationalities, possible romance but we’ll see, water boarding briefly, we finna give Ino some love too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Igot2peedou/pseuds/Igot2peedou
Summary: In which Sakura Haruno’s parents are divorced and she goes to live wit her ma in Suna. Things change. Throw in the invasion of Konoha, an unavoidable sacrifice, and the Nara clan... you get the story of Oashisu no Sakura.





	1. Oashisu vs. Yamanaka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited version of chapter 1. Small changes, hopefully an improvement lol.

 

She wraps her hitai-ate around her fist and smiles.

Shikamaru steals a look at his sensei, who’s calling card is chakra trench knives. He wonders if she has altered her hitai-ate in the same manner as sensei. His sensei's brow twitches in recognition but doesn’t comment, eyes trained on the match. Shikamaru returns his attention to the arena, to Ino's opponent. They know almost nothing about her besides the superficial— the baby face curve of her jaw and shining green eyes and audacious pink hair. Together it spells harmless, or appears to. It isn’t enough to dissuade the sheer power that exudes from Team Baki and by extension her. Oashisu's face is painted, contrasting brutally against her dark brown skin. It _is_ foolish to wear flowing robes as a mere genin, but the way she holds herself? It makes her dangerous. He isn't nervous for Ino, though he is hesitant to say this will be an easy match. 

The proctor begins the fight. Immediately Ino assaults the arena with a mixture of smoke bombs and exploding tagged tipped kunai. She’s creating space, evaluating— proving once again that the vapid blond act is just that, when it’s advantageous. She doesn’t need him. Shikamaru can’t help but smile. Chōji cheers his shouts vibrating against the walls. As fat clouds of smoke overwhelm the arena Shikamaru licks his lips in anticipation. 

The girl, Sakura, hardly dodges Ino’s attacks. She seems to dance rather than dodge, by centimeters, smoke barely deterring her sense of direction. 

Ino drills a shot dead on, with a velocity that shocks him— there’s a horrible clang of metal against metal as Sakura deflects the kunai. With Ino’s accuracy it would’ve taken out her eye but she hadn’t flinched. Even without the bird’s eye view the audience has, Shikamaru realizes she never ceased advancing throughout the assault. That is troublesome. "C’mon Ino,” he mutters. The faster she takes this girl out the quicker she’s out of the danger zone. He leans forward, trying to locate his teammate through the thick smoke. Subdued flashes of color is all he can make out.  

"Look.” Asuma-sensei nods, indicating Ino's location. He and Chōji follow the direction. Squinting Shikamaru comes to a quick conclusion. She isn’t in great shape— they took a beating from nature and helping out Team Seven, it’s no wonder Ino opted to evade rather than face Sakura head on. Sensei must see his thoughts scrawled on his face because he shakes his head. “No, closer.” He tugs on Shikamaru’s ponytail.

It clicks.

The smoke is clearing and Ino definitely pulled out all the stops. The smoke and kunai’s had been meant to look as if Ino needed to bide her time— her glossy hair, chopped, meticulously scattered across the arena like land mines. The girl, however intimidating and purposeful has strode right into Ino’s trap.

"Last chance Yamanaka.” She calls, grip tightening around her hitai-ate. Shikamaru doesn’t have a chance to laugh, enthralled.

Ino kneels in response, Sakura’s face twists in disgust or disappointment wiped as her robes settle. Her body jerks to a stop. Sapphire blue chakra encases Ino’s fallen locks and creeps up Sakura’s sandals, disappearing beneath her robes. The sheer astonishment on Sakura’s face is comedic. “I was about to say the same,” Ino quips. Shikamaru shoves Chōji in celebration _she_ _did_ _that_ — the crowd murmurs, Ino grins wickedly.

“Your first mistake was underestimating me, not so tough now are you?” She remains kneeling and though she isn’t obvious, Shikamaru recognizes her signs of fatigue. The tightness of her shoulders and her rambling are a dead give away. Ino is all business she brags after, not during. “And what kind of ninja doesn’t notice a haircut?” She palms her hack job. “Don’t bother trying to escape. That’s laced in chakra, honey. You won’t be able to move until I want you to. Minds well give up now,” Ino pauses, tilts her head to the side. “S’alright I’ll do it for you.” Instead of standing, kunai in hand, her hands form her clans hand sign. Their famous jutsu. The air seems to be sucked out of the arena— she really _is_ going all out— body goes limp. 

Almost in tandem Sakura’s body goes ramrod straight, eyes glazed over. There is a beat of silence, stretches in filmy anticipation— the puppet master smirks and the gourd carrier’s expression never wavers from the detached blank look. 

Her mouth pops open. “I, Oashisu Sa...” 

Despite Ino’s loud proclamation her speech tapers off. Shikamaru clutches the railing. She needs to go in for the kill! Enough theatrics! “N— no way!” The wide eye look on Sakura’s face is all Ino except between her shock and the jerky movement of the host's limbs— that must be Sakura. “It’s not going to work,” Ino shouts. She grits teeth, brow furrowing. Next to him Chōji shovels chips into his mouth and Shikamaru can’t blame him. They’ve never seen someone resist a Yamanaka jutsu, not like this. 

She doesn’t smile this time. The hitai-ate glitters sharply, a streak of silver, and there is a subsequent thud. Sakura— because Ino knows any damage she sustains in another’s body will transmit to her own— undercuts her jaw. Her cheekbone. Her throat. Repeatedly. And the girl isn’t pulling her punches. She attacks her body as if she is her own enemy, without hesitation.

It’s quick, awful and awe-inspiring all at once, makes his skin crawl— Ino. He cannot differentiate between who’s grunts he hears. Whoever hacks up blood, Ino’s body mirrors the damage. Phantom attacks bruise, split and “Get out of there Ino! Get out!” This is too much. A stupid competition isn’t worth it! Shikamaru’s guts twist. He can’t do anything.

Eruptly the hitai-ate loosens, unwinding like a slip of silk, dripping crimson. Briefly he thinks that Ino has reasserted control. It’s over. Maybe hearing him was what let her wrestle control back, this wasn't all for nothing...

It’s not. Her left hand flies through hand signs, flames licking at her fingertips. Sakura gouges out her eye. No— no, she doesn’t— there is screaming, sizzling flesh— happens between a blink of an eye. Flames lick her fingers and then they curl close and he can almost hear skin and fluid melting! It seems much longer as Asuma-sensei tethers he and Chōji beside him. Sakura holds her head high, as she makes her way to Ino's body. Her lips pinch in pain, bone peeking from behind melted flesh and there’s blood and Ino shakes her head furiously as the girl approaches. And what he's seeing is horrifying. Everything she does to herself... reflects on Ino. Somehow, somewhere, Ino was able to release the jutsu. His gut twists horribly,  _what will she do_ because Ino is curled in on herself clutching the wound and hardly elgible and Sakura is getting closer one step at a time, lips curled back into what must be a grin and Ino  

“I concede,” she warbles, voice distorted with pain.

 

* * *

 

 

The medic nin rushes to repair the burn. Below her eye, at the cusp of her eye socket is a third degree burn— before his eyes, it scars. Raw and angry but the destroyed flesh knits together. Below the third degree burn is a canal of charred flesh with bubbled blisters creeping at the sides, coaxed into a path of dull pink. The medics speak in jargon he can't place, he needs to make sure she's okay, which, yes. They avoid prolonged shock and were able to prevent permanent damage. Then they haul her off to the med bay avoiding fatality and all.  

Ino lays in a bed, still beneath the medic’s hands. They had treated her burns on sight, leaving the bruising and lacerations for behind closed doors. Ino blinks rapidly as she’s handed a pocket mirror to inspect their handy work. He wants to look away, give her some semblance of privacy but he needs to see that she's okay. 

"We’ll set appointments to treat your injuries. You’re lucky. Your opponent must have been incredibly skilled, a lesser shinobi would have melted your eye out of it’s socket.” The medic takes his leave after writing a prescription, door clicking shut behind him. Ino laughs.

Shikamaru hears the tears in her voice, knows Chōji must too. “Lucky?” She chokes. “My face.” Her wail rakes his nerves like a blunt kunai, spurs a rage as dark as the shadows his clan wields. The physical pain— she’s humiliated, has to be, his teammate isn’t used to losing... and her face was melted. He had thought that girl melted her eye. Scooped it out like it was nothing. Like it wasn't her body that needed to be harmed before Ino's ever could be.

Asuma-sensei pats Ino’s back offering her soothing words. “You heard the medic. A few trips to the hospital and you’re good as new... Ino,” he commands her attention and by extension his and Chōji’s. “Why didn’t you release the jutsu?” 

“At first I thought I could gain back control. But then I couldn’t leave, it was like she was holding me there, hitting a wall— I couldn’t get out. I was trying!” She sniffles, gaze becoming distant. “It hurt. All of it.”

Chōji worries his empty chip bag, expression solemn. Shikamaru racks his brain for anything— resisting the Yamanaka jutsu is plausible but he’s never heard of trapping someone within. Maybe her dad would know, but not having answers frustrates him. Asuma-sensei continues comforting Ino with the look in his eye, thinking. Ino swabs her eyes, lips wobbling into a farce of a smile, burns contrasting against her pale skin, and this little act of bravery is what makes Shikamaru decide he hates Sakura no Oashisu. 

 


	2. My Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edited version

  

It’s her fault really, Kankurō can’t guard for squat, and she’s a coward. They’ve been here nearly a month. A month is too long, a month isn’t long enough.

Sparring with Gaara and Kankurō is more than enough to distract her from petty whims. But today, she had left the boys to their own devices, conscience heavy with knowledge of what’s to come— she may no longer bare his name but he’s still her father and that has to mean something. Temari warned her, don’t get sentimental. Whether advice or an order Sakura doesn’t have much of a choice. Gaara's her charge, of course she will come on the mission. She's made a career of resistance. Today proved too tempting.  

This is her father’s home, of course she will feel _something_. And Sakura does but it’s a slanted emotion, the type she couldn’t express to Kankurō or Gaara much less Temari, by its very nature. She wholeheartedly trusts them but the Kazekage... he would be less eager to send her if he knew she had doubts.  _I’m_ _not_ _a_ _traitor_ , and she holds this thought under her tongue as a reminder. Duty and honor. Love has no room for doubt. 

The Haruno house squats amidst dozen other middle class households. The door is made of fine wood, Haruno crest a lighter shade, worn as if it’s been knocked on a million times. Her knuckles hover over the Haruno circle. Her knuckles skitter across the surface, missing the crest, a dreadfully quiet knock. There is silence. She hears shifting of furniture and then movement behind the door—

she flickers away, leaving her name sake at the door. Sakura doesn’t dare shift into a more comfortable position, roof tiles digging into her stomach.

His hair has a touch more grey and his smile lines are more pronounced, but otherwise he is as she remembers. Father bends, gently scoops up the flower. He studies the blossom in the palm of his hand. Pensive. Sakura nearly calls him, the familiarity overwhelming her. “Who is it?”

"No one my love.”

_My love_. He called her mother that, before. She hardly notices him shut the door. My love. Did she expect him to wait? To never remarry or love another? She imagines him sticking the flower in his new wife’s hair the way he did to her mom’s. Her mom was never Mebuki, she was ‘my love.’ He referred to her as often Sakura had begun to pick up the habit— had to stop when they moved. What woman would want an empty title, when your husband stood to the side as your rights were systematically revoked?

This is her father’s home and she does feel something.

The Haruno circle mocks her. His inaction infuriates her. He let them oppress her mother for _this_ , for this shitty mediocre lifestyle? Speaking up would have stripped him of his station of this stupid middle class house, and what? Was he afraid of poverty? The poorest district in Konoha has nothing on Suna, doesn’t measure to the destitute poverty her village endures— and they lived through that, while he had been afraid to stand up for his ‘love?’ They were his wife and daughter! Had that counted for for anything? Sakura stares at the firmly shut door. She tastes a rush of bitter at the back of her throat. Her warnings of what’s to come dies at the doorstep of her father’s clan.

* * *

 

 

”Where were you?” Gaara rasps. Sakura shrugs. “Why aren’t you with Kankurō?” 

Which is, obviously answered, by the mere fact they are standing over an unconscious nin. Rock Lee, if she’s remembering correctly. Right. They need to get out of here before they’re discovered. Or if Gaara snaps. And it would be her fault. Kankurō can’t guard Gaara for crap, and it’s her fault really. Sand prickles the air, swirling with thinly veiled agitation. “We have to go. If you attack a sleeping nin we’re going—“ 

“What does does it matter? Either outcome results in war.”

"We lose the element of surprise.” Sakura nudges him ungently. His eyes rake over her, and it’s as if she is projecting something incredibly essential.

"We’re leaving.”

"You saw him?”  

“Yes.”

Gaara doesn’t ask, as if he never doubted her loyalty. And why should he? There are few certainties for him but she is one of them, however ironic. Temari and Kankurō have the emotional intelligence to comprehend her dilemma but Gaara? He understands her by proximity, knows that her presence is sure as the demon between his ears. Gaara holds out his hand. Sakura smiles, understanding he wants to leave her way. Good— it’s been a month since she’s been able to phase. 

“You know how much I’ve missed this,” she laughs. His mouth ticks to the side, sand withdrawing into his gourd. They make it to their accommodations in record time. 

“You idiot! I leave for less than one hour and you let him go wandering around alone.” Sakura bursts through their room, annoyed. Immediately she spots Kankurō and Crow— the former sprawling across his bed shoving sweets into his mouth, while the latter mirrors his posture on her’s. Kankurō doesn’t have the decency to flinch either. He smiles wide, chewed sweets and all. “Figured he’d catch up with you.”

”He was catching up with Lee,” she throws a thumb at Gaara, “We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.”

Uninterested, Gaara shoves Crow to the side to sit on her bed. Kankurō hastily stows away the puppet. He laughs. An awkward thing Sakura wishes he’d have grown out of, it’s the little things that sting the worst.

"Well now you two are back I’m going out to tou— scope out the enemy.” He winks, waving a lazy goodbye. 

Deciding she’s in for the night, Sakura begins to wipe off her face paint. Thick parallel lines beginning above her eyebrows, ending at her collarbones. Usually face paint is reserved for puppet masters alone, but these are the Oashisu markings. 

Noticing that she intends to wind down for the day Gaara pulls out the med kit. “Come here.” He swiftly removes the remainder of the paint. He pulls out aloe vera for her burn, tsking a bit at the state of her wound. She insisted on wearing her clan markings here— and although she never expressed why, Gaara noticed the frequency she dawns the paints at home. And unlike there Sakura had ritualistically applied it since their arrival in Konoha. They served well as a source of intimidation and pride, not so well in the healing factor.

As the smear of aloe vera thins out grains of sand prick her sensitive skin. Sakura hums, the quick friction familiar. His temper hadn’t always been easily avoided. There had been accidents. This mission is difficult— she can’t control the Konoha nin or the environment to prevent truly upsetting Gaara... she has resigned herself to moments like these: to remind him that they’re in this together. 

His eyes are rimmed in red, thick kohl eyeliner a failing misdirection from the dark eye bags. She wishes she could let him sleep. But now is not the time, what is a few more days? 

“Did it hurt,” he asks as he draws away from her.

"Yeah.” She curls her fingers. Irony tanging sharply at the thought. Her nature is fire, but the Will of Fire had not wanted her. And that’s fine, she will take and leave only the husk, for her village. Let them feast on their own complicity. 

“No. When the Yamanaka invaded your mind.”

She towels his hand, cleansing it of remaining aloe before answering. “It felt... wretched. Though it couldn’t have been worse then how you feel everyday.” Sakura swishes her finger over the patch of new skin, the path she paved into herself and the Yamanaka. A lesson the girl would do well not to forget. 

“You’re not used to it.” His eyes are like freshly sliced cactus. 

“My mom warned me well enough. They’re only genin, there’s only so much she could have done.”

He seems unconvinced but let’s the subject go. “I won’t tell Baki you weren’t with me.”

”I won’t tell Baki _you_ weren’t with _me_ ,” she echos, the two sharing a smirk. 

 

Each step is a drawn out conviction, rattling of gourds, clattering of hollowed sticks, and thrash of water against stone. A battle cry. Her thoughts are lost somewhere amongst the citizens and Team Baki. Waiting for the signal creates an anticipation louder than any crowd or uncertainty. 

The proctor recites the rules. 

Sakura removes her hitai-ate from her sash, cinches it across her knuckles. 

Sakura regards her opponent for the first time since her descent from the stands. She can describe him in two words: aggressive sloucher. His hands are stuffed deeply within his pockets, spine curved like a faulty bow, and even as the match begins he doesn’t move. Which is fine with Sakura because it isn’t like she’s in a particular hurry. 

“I don’t usually hit girls,” the Nara drawls. “But you disfigured my friend.” He unfurls his body, tension rolling off him like steam. “So I’ll make an exception for you.” 

Laughter gurgles past her lips. She searches the stands as her head tilts back. “I’m honored.” 

Sakura steps out of the way of kunai meant for her throat— interesting, he’s foregoing all mid range attacks. If he was halfway decent at close range her artery would be gushing or at least nicked. “You’re slow.” She comments. Immediately she retaliates by jabbing his side, which, to his credit, Nara recovers quick enough to avoid the hit to his side. He skids back, contorting. Sakura rotates on her left leg— right heel landing squarely on his jaw — really slow, she confirms. 

His clan works best with space and strategy. 

Nara stumbles. He lunges forward and stabs at her. Sakura parries with her hitai-ate, bends his wrist with her left hand— forcing him to spin until his back is flush against her front, squirming in pain. Nara’s bucking body is an inconvenience, as she peers through his thick ponytail, searching for the signal— her vision tinges white as the back of his head connects to the bridge of her nose. 

He shoves himself away from her, scrambling for distance. He cradles his wrist. Clearly not broken. Sprained at least, she hopes. “Fight for yourself your friend already lost,” she hisses, giving structure to her pain. A mean look crosses his face.

”You’re obviously not skilled enough for close combat. You Konoha nin are all the same.” “How do you figure,” he bites out.

"Sentimental.” 

 

 

Thousands of feather’s flutter, winding down to rest on this citizens of Konoha— a tremor, ear splitting roar shakes the earth beneath her feet. In the distance she sees Shikaku’s looming figure. The thrill of battle mounts inside her. She isn’t thinking of her father’s home, only of Sunagakure. Gaara and Kankurō are in place, now she’ll join them. There’s a split second where she makes eye contact with the Nara. His eyebrows crumple in worry and confusion, flattening as he registers her lack of surprise, her eagerness, and Sakura knows he must have noticed her looking up at the stands during their fight, and now he knows why.

She doesn’t say anything and neither does he. And then all hell breaks loose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who commented that was super awesome feedback. I’m glad you guys thought it was an interesting take on how Sakura defeated Ino’s jutsu. Also !!! Shikamaru trynna fuck Sakura up! Wilding!
> 
> Sakura’s role in regards to the Sand siblings depends on her clan’s jutsu— it’s what makes her an ideal companion to Gaara. You shall see, there’s some hinting but she herself doesn’t go into it/ the scene cuts. *shrugs. Until next time. Comment, critique, and kudos.


	3. Behind Enemy Lines

 

Lightening crackling, fist emerging from her shoulder between her shoulder blades— the drooling monster roaring as he falls— her hair standing on end, and Shikamaru is horrified. He’s never seen anyone fried to death. The moment is framed behind his left eyelid, the next on his right. Sasuke slides _through_ Sakura’s body, the violent orb never ceasing, and she— she is whole.

His ribs scream in protest as he inhales deeply, disbelieving. There is no gaping hole where Sasuke’s fist was. Sasuke trips through her, Sakura twists stabbing him in the shoulder missing his neck entirely (the lightning sputters out, Sasuke grunts in pain) and she falls _through_ the tree branch as if it’s water and not a solid object. Crouches besides the monster. Shikamaru exhales, ribs constricting in an agonizing manner and he’s delirious, can hardly think, or move. He’s merely a voyeur when he should act. 

Sakura sticks her fist through its head, fist emerging on the other side unbloodied. As Shikamaru wheezes another breathe, she withdraws her arm. Gestures to the newcomers: three female Sand nin, monster collapsing. Shrinking into the gourd career. Gaara. 

One of the newcomers shoulder the puppeteer Kankurō, maneuvering as a unit to aid a senbon thrower. Keeping Naruto and Sasuke at bay. The other nin, strides forward, ginormous fan in hand to engage in what appears as a heated exchange with Sakura. 

He strains to hear their conversation— the two obviously the leaders of the two units, but the battle Naruto and Sasuke are engaged in is too loud. his head feels light, full of fine thread. His wound twinges. The slick warmth of blood gushes even as he applies pressure.

Sakura lugs the unconscious Gaara to the other girl. His unresponsive body slipping from her grasp, practically forcing the other nin to catch him as she lets go. The other girl shouts something unintelligible. Clearly furious. 

“We have to go,” the senbon thrower shouts, Naruto and an injured Sasuke tailing her injured companions. 

Quickly untying her hitai-ate from her fist, she shoves it into the nin’s palm. She shuts the girl’s fingers over the metal, as if agreeing with the senbon throwers declaration. Not missing a beat Sakura steps away, hands flying through familiar hand signs— (bursts of fire roar in the palm of her hands) he has to do something— Naruto and Sasuke break through the other nin’s defense

“—Temari,” Sakura’s voice rings. The girl slings Gaara over one shoulder, and with a violent wave of her fan Sakura’s jutsu bathes them in flames. He is torn from his position by razor sharp wind, an unbearable heat washing over him.

 

Naruto has risen, screaming. Shikamaru’s lungs ache wracks his body over with the need to breathe only to send searing shocks to his ribs. Flames feast on the buildings, or what is left of them— charred debris torn from the root up, and somewhere amongst all of that is Team Seven. Shikamaru rolls to his side, gasping, and searches for them. A sense of unreality follows. Sasuke’s skin painted in coils of black, facing the girl. 

She charges kunai at the ready, and he knows Sasuke won’t be able to counter the attack. His skin did that once before and he hardly escaped injury in the preliminaries. this is a real fight. Shikamaru shoves himself into a sitting position (Naruto blocks Sasuke, weaponless but with a strange numbing red aura surrounding him)— Shikamaru nearly eats the crumbly pavement, as shadows rush her— ironically her flames add shadows his, Shikamaru’s body seems to split with strain, chakra coils pushed to the limit, and maybe it won’t work Sasuke fell _through_ her she had put her hand _through_ a head— with a familiar jolt his shadows encircle her.

she freezes midstep. 

“Heh,” he feigns dropping a kunai, she drops her weapon. His body begins to tremble with the strain, but Shikamaru maintains the connection. 

Naruto doubles back, veering his course to tend to his teammate. 

“Go after the rest of them I got these two.” Naruto looks up from his fallen teammate, solemn. Determined. Sasuke protests but is too weak to get up. Insults froth at his lips but Naruto is off. 

“He won’t catch them.”

Sakura stands, shadows latched like chains rooting her in place. Her eyes are acidic beneath her smeared face paint. Flames and dark plumes of smoke framing her figure, structures groaning as they give way to flame. Her certainty is fearless. However trapped she is Sakura holds no hint of fear. She should. She should be afraid, and she’ll regret not being. Regret all of it. Ino, his wound, this whole attack. She will pay tenfold. but— her corrosive green eyes hold no regret or uncertainty and he hates her for it. 

“He doesn’t need to. We have you.”

and so what if he basks in the slight clench of her shoulders? His village is ravaged and they must shift through the carnage to piece back together anything— anyone, they can salvage. Because of her. And her people. He hates her, and he hopes she suffers. Even civilians know what happens to captured nin behind enemy lines. 

 

 

 

Barfing up water from your mouth and nose, eyes bulging with foreign liquid as someone shifts through your innermost thoughts, really puts things into perspective.

She’s going to die.

Not of dehydration or starvation, which is all too common in Suna, but of all things: drowning. The irony. A backhanded slap with a hint of sweetness. At least she has had the opportunity to have an honorable death where others have surrendered to these conditions however unwillingly. Besides, an Oasishu drowning, the least likely clan to drown, and here she is. Drowning.

— hiccups of oxygen, before she’s slammed back into the icy depths, a blade cleaning her lungs _air_ _air_! A Yamanaka thumbing through her brains with the elegance of a surgeon, incision here, extraction there— all of this truly gives her perspective. She’s going to die.

They had broken her fingers one by one, you’re going to tell us everything you know. 

It hurt but not as much as when Gaara scraped the entirety of her left calf’s skin off, sanding a few layers of her muscles. She hadn’t been quick enough that time. Sakura focuses on that memory, as the man idly bends her her digits this way and that as if they are lovers getting to know one another’s gentleness— she hadn’t heeded Gaara’s erratic behavior, he was doing so well lately— and then by the time she realized her mistake the sand had shredded her calf. Before it could be ground to the bone Sakura had phased. The sand slid, desperate to continue his assault and Sakura had—

It hurts it hurts, she’s had worse. A med nin is on call. They’ll come in and heal her and pop the fingers out of socket, reset and break. It’s going to get so much worse. She doesn’t find this comforting. Only something to endure. 

The man gets bored with snapping her bones, and smashes her fingers with the handle of his katana. Sakura grits her teeth hard, gurgling at the back of her throat, and after the initial break he begins to grind. The pain is so fucking specific. 

She hardly notices the entrance of a Yamanaka. 

Escape is not a possibility. Her chakra levels are critically low, there is no phasing out. Sakura remembers how she had curled on the floor, blood phasing through the floor, as Gaara rampaged. She was five. You can stop this any time, Sakura bares her teeth in a mockery of a smile. Thank you. 

What a beautiful smile. 

They had given her threadbare prisoner garb, a shitbucket. Tore at her hair until it hung lanky down sans hair tie. They had stopped letting her sleep. 

Blood dribbles from her mouth in thick globs. Sticky as a mouthful of pure sugar, tasting of iron. her molar, shines wetly beneath the fluorescent lights. She’s aware of the gasping slob she is, can’t help it not really, blood contrasts against metal of the pliers. The woman when did the man leave? fingers her raw gushing wounds. Sakura eyeballs the woman as she places her tooth on a platter. He did say you had lovely teeth. Woman tugs at the exposed nerves— at the height of delirious pain Sakura feels the distinct intrusion of her mind. 

The Yamanaka. 

pain pain pain, the only way to keep them from furthering their exploration is remaining rooted in this sensation. and so she gives herself wholly. 

get out of here  
we’re not leaving you.  
look around! that bastard isn’t here. We’re going to lose!  
stop wasting time! I order you

 

The torture is standard. It is what it is, by its very nature. No cake walk. Unnerving and disorientating. Isn’t anything she hasn’t been trained for. But each time she’s reduced to a blithering mess, it’s not enough. She won’t break she won’t she won’t. It’s especially hard with the Yamanaka’s jutsu. Though she’s prepared for that too. Sakura supposes she has her mom to thank for that. The hours of poison and toxin training that simulates the raw dysfunction of their jutsu— give them what they know and not an inch more. Find somewhere safe and remain there.

(Had this Yamanaka been the one to tear through her mom’s mind as he is doing to her now?) 

She pictures the oasis, and regurgitates the obvious— maybe she’ll be brain dead by the time they’re done with her.

She thinks of her clan’s oasis. Of the cleansing, cool water, practically glowing after a long day. She takes refuge from her torture in the depths of the oasis, from the ruthless desert terrain. Rippling, reflections glittering on the ceiling shifting as the water does. Her mom had carried her home after taking care of Gaara that day. Her calf had ached even after she had been healed. She had gotten to bathe in it that day. The essence of life.

He must have caught on fairly quick. Because once he gets nowhere fast, besides her mind's eye of the oasis, they bring in the barrel. Full of water. And they dunk her.

It’s a desecration of her clan’s most sacred treasure. Physiological torture. They want to make it impossible for her to retreat into her mind, into the oasis. She wants to say it doesn’t work. And she knows what they’re trying to do— but the cold icy water she hacks out of her lungs, the terror of not being able to breathe— it becomes innate. 

Finally, they yank her hair, drag her away from the barrel and onto the floor. 

She sinks into the oasis, into her safe space, and screams. It is not the same. 

 

That’s when they start feeding her lies. She can only assume they’re such because mom would never let Team Mebuki get captured, or Gaara and Kankurō. Sakura sacrificed herself so they wouldn’t be— she would respect that. Team Mebuki are fearsome. Yui wouldn’t rat. No one can get near her with her aim! Not even that dumb fox demon could take down Akira! Temari promised. She promised and now Sakura is here, and they had to have made it or this all was for nothing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes their p.o.v is disjointed. Especially Sakura’s since she been captured and tortured. 
> 
> Aye!! Y’all like her bloodline? Think— Kitty Pryde. Anyways, gave the Oasishu some fleshing out. Thanks for commenting and giving me your thoughts I hope you liked this chapter. I’m particularly proud of the next chap cos it pulls EVERYTHING together. Mwhahah
> 
> Btw Sakura’s water boarding type shit is after all the other torture shit in this particular scene. After her safe place is corrupted is when she really starts to become unhinged. Not to say her stint of torture is over but for a while yes. 
> 
> Anyways thanks for reading. Comment, critique, and kudos!


	4. Business Transaction

  

Shikamaru doesn’t understand why he’s here. The council converses, ignoring him and his dad as if their presence had not been requested. Before leaving home, his dad had advised him to keep his cool. Had stared at him deeply to emphasize the seriousness of the suggestion. Odd, and odder still. Whatever this is, it’s big, Shikamaru acknowledges. 

As they entered the room he had taken note of the lay out. The council sat on a raised dais, a civilian couple on the left of the pathway, and his father led them to the right. There’s a metal table in the middle of the room. Besides the main entrance Shikamaru glimpses a side door, partly hidden by drapes hanging off the dais. 

It’s around fifteen minutes before a council member announces, “We shall proceed.” 

He almost curses himself for not knowing who it is. Studying politics isn’t his thing, but it’s evident that knowledge would have been useful now. The speaker is a man on the wrong side of middle age, but Shikamaru decides Danzo and the other two members are calling the shots— due to seniority if nothing else. 

As he tries to recall the other two’s name, two figures emerge from the side door. 

If it wasn’t for her pink hair he wouldn’t have recognized her. Without her paint, her looks impossibly young. The same age as the gradautaing class. Her robes and jewelry are replaced with standard issue prisoner garb and chakra suppressing cuffs. Sakura Oasishu. 

A gaurd gingerly leads her to the center of the room, looping her chains to a fixture on the table. She keeps her gaze level, straight and unseeing, at something in the distance. Without her usual robes he can see the tension in her body. Though she doesn’t resist the gaurd Sakura’s movement is stiff. As if she’s preventing herself from trembling, or more likely, from exacting violence. 

An ugly sense of justification rises that he quickly stifles. 

The Sand was fooled. They were as much victims as Konoha. Orochimaru’s treachery has preyed upon their desperation— Shikamaru understood their reasoning. A poverty stricken village, one pressed for money, encouraged by the crooked Konoha nin. Orochimaru has masqueraded in their Kazekage— the Sannin had been theirs, in a way it was their fault for not doing something about him, but still. Sakura had slotted a kunai through a pair of his ribs and lit his village on fire. (He had returned after everything was said and done, to the charred structures and he could have stopped this destruction.)

After everything, the villages remained allies. Some claimed the whole experience strengthened the alliance. Why is she here? The rest of the prisoners of war had been set free weeks ago. A show of good faith, a gesture in light of the new treaty. That and the fact Konoha needed every ally they could get in this vulnerable state. Sand was willing. Never mind that they had been the reason they’re vulnerable. Another reason why he hates politics. So why, is she here? Clearly she should be home. The room is set up for a trial, which explains why the civilians are here but there had been worse offenses that had been pardoned. He had tailed her the whole attack— she hadn’t done anything worse than the act itself. 

Her deep brown skin seems washed, as if she hadn’t been outside. In weeks. 

Why is he here?

The middle age councilman addresses the civilian. “Do you recognize this girl, Kizashi Haruno?”

The civilian nods.

“Speak up,” the councilman reprimands.

Haruno’s Adam’s apple bobs but he answer before he can be chastised once more. “Yes. Yes I recognize her.”

The civilians eye’s dart between the dias and the girl. As if he’s trying to make eye contact, but Sakura’s gaze remains firm, staring into the distance. It reminds him a bit of Sasuke, and the thinly veiled distaste he hides behind a blank mask. Like him, Sakura can’t entirely hide the emotion by the mere fact how aggressively even the expression. 

“What is your relation to her?”

”She,” Haruno hesitates, “She is my daughter.”

Shikamaru nearly double takes. _Daughter_? He openly stares at the civilian. The man has a pale complexion, graying blond hair. He looks nothing like the girl. Shikamaru reevaluates Sakura. Their facial structure and build are entirely different. But the eyes. The dewy green are too similar a shade to be just coincidence after the man’s admission. Upon this discovery Shikamaru hastily returns to the conversation at hand. 

“— her mother, Mebuki Oasishu had divorced me after the Hyuuga regulations. She never went through the citizenship process, so it was very hard on her to live here after... the... restrictions put on foreign nin.” Haruno licked his lips, carefully choosing his words. 

Shikamaru could hardly think. _This_ _is_ _not_   _Konoha_. Konoha isn’t like other villages, their foreign policy, they’re, they’re an open village. As quickly as he thinks it he knows it’s wrong. Why would the civilian lie? 

“She didn’t understand the new policies. I tried to explain the security would lessen once things calmed down but Mebuki was prideful. She said she’d rather die in Suna than live as a second class citizen in Konoha.” Haruno’s voice nearly trembled as he spoke, eyes on his daughter, who refused to acknowledge him. “She took Sakura when she left. I have not seen either of them since.” 

“You didn’t pursue them?”

”No.” 

“Why is that, Haruno?” 

“I...” He began to shift uncomfortably, color rushing to his neck and cheeks. He opens his mouth only to be interrupted. “You had a right to, after all the child’s citizenship supersedes her mother’s.”

Everything clicks into place. Sakura is on trial for treason. Born in Konoha from the sound of it— that’s why she wasn’t allowed to leave like the other prisoners. Legally, Shikamaru realizes, she’s a Konoha citizen. The treaty had protected the others but she could be punished by Konoha because of her citizenship. She’s under Konoha jurisdiction. 

And it explains why Temari Sabaku frequented the Tower. Her visits hadn’t just been diplomatic she had been trying to— to (her own village her own village, destroying) 

“Or was this hesitance really due to your failure to report your wife’s bloodline limit? When if ever were you going to inform the village of your offspring’s bloodline limit?” The questions were no longer questions, but statements. The councilman seemed to be going in for the kill, civility sheathed. 

Haruno blanched, seeming to shrink where he stood, not denying any accusations. 

“We have heard your petition though we have deemed you and your clan untrustworthy.” The council members bare down on Haruno. “Sakura Haruno will be placed in the custody of the Nara.” The councilman’s eye’s flicker to where Shikamaru and his father stand. “Shikamaru’s statement has proved that his clan’s jutsu has the ability to restrain her bloodline limit. The Haruno clan has visitation rights and will be expected to compensate for room and board, your commerce will be taxed 20% for your prior misconduct. Consider the case closed until a Hokage is reinstated. Dismissed.” 

 His mouth is cotton, thick and silent. Shikamaru resists demanding his dad what’s going on. She— there’s no way that he’s— that they, are responsible for her. 

Though it must be the case, because Haruno and the silent civilian woman are ushered out of the room.

Signalled by the council, the guard removes her handcuffs, leading Sakura to the middle of the room. His dad stands to meet them halfway. It’s like a business transaction, and Shikamaru has no idea what his clan is paying, only the distinct realization that _his_ report was used as a reason to dump this foreign nin on them.

The guard attempts to give his dad the manacles. “We won’t need those,” he tells him and— it’s done. Sakura spares his dad a single glance, joins him as he returns. Shikamaru’s breathing comes in sharp gasps— panic? he holds it, lungs burning, turns to the exit before the unnatural duo reach him. He tries not to bust into a run, ribs deteriorating into a stitch that tears, shifting as (blood gushes even as he applies pressure)

The air is crisp, cleansing as he inhales deeply.

His wound is healed. Unbothered. Why her? He’s not afraid, he held his own once made it out mostly intact— clutches his ribs at the memory. Why his clan? The Yamanaka would control her just as well, Ino almost had her, far more skilled elders would be able to, surely?— chakra suppression. Any clan could house her. _Why_ _us_? Politics. Has to be.  

Muttering a few choice words Shikamaru decides he must talk to his dad. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I’ve been waiting for!!! Ahh!! The whole story had been inspired by jus soli— citizenship by soil, or where you have been born. In America it’s by parents and if you’ve been born on American soil. In Konaha it’s just jus soli. Sooo!! Sakura has been detained and forced to stay in Konaha cos legally she’s a citizen (but everywhere but Konaha) they recognize her as a Suna citizen. 
> 
> Anyway, after foreign nin attempted to kidnap Hinata and all that— Konaha tightened up there foriegn policy. They made laws that restricted anyone that isn’t a citizen— and socially, much like in the wake of 9/11 people became afraid and suspicious of anyone “other” (irl Middle Eastern People) so like ppl were acting out. Treated foreign nin differently. Didn’t matter where they were from just that they were not Konaha citizens. 
> 
> Kizashi didn’t stand up/couldn’t change laws/way people treated Mebuki and his daughter. So she left him. 
> 
> The thing is if Konaha knew she had a blood line they would have wanted that in their inventory. That’s why the council is taxing his trade.
> 
> And yes there are some political reasons Sakura is entrusted to the Nara. Aka Danzo head ass but you’ll see soon. Kinda short chap but it’s w.e. Thanks for reading. ❤️ Comment, critique, enjoy!


	5. Anyone But You

 

Sakura entertains the idea of escape, steam curling in clouds, fogging the mirror— chakra manacles absent— and she shuts the desperate treacherous thought down, as she steps into the shower. The water burns and she winces beneath the heat. (Cool welcoming water running _running_  their conscious through her brain with a fine comb pressure ratcheting up in her lungs) Sakura remains firmly beneath the shower head, despite the aggressive heat. 

She could. 

She could run. Before they notice her absence and that would be enough time to replenish some of her reserves and then she could phase... it’s not an option even as she thinks it. 

She may be many things but she is not a match for an entire village. Surely not without her team. Sakura tilts her face into the heat, willing tears. Better to mourn here than outside— she’s sure some sort of emotional outburst is past due, but even as she reaches for sorrow, it remains out of reach. Not a single tear is produced. Sakura growls, eye sight stubbornly clear. 

Sakura Haruno. They had wielded the clan name as if her father didn’t air Konaha’s dirt. As if her mother hadn’t divorced him and consequently washed hands of his clan. Somewhere in their records her true name sits, she had wanted to spit the name from her mouth. Wrench away the lie, not that they deserved her truth but she is what she is and not anything they are projecting. Oasishu. I am no Haruno. They knew and didn’t care. They didn’t care for him, only the blood line that had slipped through their fingers.

Sakura goes through a hygienic autopilot, lost to her thoughts. 

“You made it,” she had stated, voice unnaturally raspy. It had been embarrassing— made her pride prickle and crumble, but the sight of Temari had surpassed the discomfort. Roughly embracing, Sakura’s cheek is pressed to Temari’s collar. 

At least, Sakura thinks, she had been willing to give. To combust. To cry without it being the carefully plucked fruits of TI. The moment of vulnerability as Temari pushes her an arm’s length away, fingers bunching the fabric at her shoulders. “We would never abandon you.” Her eyes are marble, unforgiving. _You_ _made_ _us_ _leave_ _you_. The proper response is no response. Allowing her charge— any of the Sand Sibling’s capture would have irrevocably changed the dynamic between villages. Logically she is not a detrimental loss, her clan will survive. More importantly Suna will not need to bend over backwards to reclaim her as they would have been forced to if one of the Siblings had been held hostage. Her decision was the right one. _Is_ the right one.

”The others?” She nods to her cell, in reference to the other shinobi who had the same luck as her.

”Released. We have reached a consensus— Konoha is in no position to retaliate. Their snake has infiltrated our ranks.” She flashes teeth. “A treaty has been drawn.” 

“Gaara? Kankurō?”

”Kankurō is fine. Your mother has her hands full keeping Gaara home.” Temari blatantly evaluates her. “You look like shit.”

”Would you say that to Yui? I’m sure you’d still ravage h—“

Temari tightens her hold, blinking hard. “It should have. Anyone but you.” 

Sakura almost snaps a reply, she’s wrong before Temari’s hand goes lax falling to her side. “You can’t come home.”

_you_ _can’t_ _come_ _home_.

 

Politics. A power move. Neither village in a position to cast off the other, though Suna had been the transgressor. Keeping her here... A claim to a blood line that hadn’t even originated from Konoha’s loins, but the oasis of her village. 

Cloak and dagger. An unwritten sanction. Temari had made it clear that she wouldn’t be harmed, she wouldn’t, not if she behaved. Her blood line is too valuable for them to kill her— that’s what they hope. She can’t go home. Not a prisoner of war any longer, a political one. Though she lacked manacles and they unhinging decay of some dungeon— she’d been sequestered into someone’s home with intent to imprison her within their walls. Prisoner. 

Prisoner prisoner prisoner

 

The woman, Yoshino, steered her towards the bathroom. Her voice a soft murmur. Yoshino’s nose scrunched in distaste at her scent. Sakura had wanted to laugh. If she thinks this is bad she’d never survive Gaara in action. Blood and sand mixing, hoarded inside his gourd, going rancid in the between battles (“hey, let's switch it out for a fresh batch,” — but she’s never going home, who will remind him now?) no. Sakura knows she's filthy. Oil sticks to her fingers when she runs her fingers through her hair. She smells of stale sweat and the odor beneath her clothes and she hasn’t changed out of the prisoner uniform because she still _is_ one— but Yoshino is the clan head’s wife, and Sakura only survives if she is “good.” 

She’s not entirely sure what constitutes as good behavior.

Feels their eyes, knows that he was the boy from before. She’s a ward of the Nara, ignores them. Clenches her jaw shut and wills her vision to shift into another dimension, away from varnished wood and sophisticated decor. Wants to go home.

Yoshino is the first to break the silence. Maybe she leaned over too close and caught a whiff of something rank. Politely, as if Sakura is a guest, she leads her to the washroom. The poignant lack of piss and shit in the room she sleeps in should be an indication she does in fact know where the bathroom is. She thinks that she doesn’t owe this bitch anything. If her lack of hygiene is a source of discomfort then all the better. It’s the least she can do, she’s failed in all other areas. She could have made Konoha burn— blister, nothing left but a hand full of ashes. 

The soft brown of Yoshino’s eyes do not remind her of silt, though the senbon pinning up her hair reminds her of Yui. Of Temari. And what would mom say? This small act of rebellion is so insignificant that it only shames her clan with the filth gathering at her sleeves. So Sakura follows Yoshino into the washroom. 

Sakura stares at the towel and neatly folded clothes sitting on the toilet. She can hardly traipse around the compound naked. The grimey uniform is discarded, presumably tossed. She’s almost relieved she hadn’t cried. Yoshina surely would have heard. 

Red. Bright, gaudy, red. Sakura doesn’t have much of a choice though that isn’t anything new. The quiapo dress fits snugly, uncomfortably so, silk emphasized with white trim. The Haruno crest at the front and back— to salt her wounds, to scream allegiance she does not harbor, to all. It couldn’t be farther from Oasishu blue. _essence_ _of_ _life_ _more_ _valuable_ _than_ _gold_ (she tugs at a bare earlobe, sans symbol) 

 

 

 

“I want pants.”

Sakura addresses Yoshino, eyes firmly planted to the wall. Her tone is callous, a demand. Yoshino laughs. Sakura glares at the woman opening her mouth to— “I’m sorry Sakura. It’s just that, this is the first time I’ve heard you speak and that’s the first thing,” she lapses into a chuckle, “You say.”

It’s not nearly as funny as Yoshino makes it out to be. Her neck prickles, frustration rippling beneath her skin. “Shut up.” Yoshino hides her mouth, wappish insult unregistered, smile growing if her crows feet are any indication. “Of course how rude of me.” “Real sandals too. Not this civilian bullsh—“

"If I were you I’d watch your mouth.”

Sakura merely growls at his interruption. 

The boy merely tosses a kunai up and down, practically begging for an ‘or what.’ Puncturing his lungs— with his own weapon, again, is definitely not good behavior. Being sent back to TI might be worth it. “Shikamaru that is no way to talk to a lady.”

He stops a few feet ahead of them, leans on the opposite wall of the hallway. “I don’t see one besides you mom.”

Shikamaru’s voice drags. He lingers, looking at the foolish civilian threads, “You showered.” Immediately Yoshina barks her disapproval, she resists fidgeting in her clothes— who cares what this idiot thinks? — she stands tall. Shikamaru raises his hand in acknowledgment to his mother’s reprimand, his trajectory clearly set on bumping her shoulder. Sakura phases before contact. He slightly stumbles, sandal scuffing the floor, having expected to collide with her throws off his balance. He sends her a dirty look. Her lips twitch into a smirk. 

After her son’s interruption Yoshina gives Sakura a gentle smile, continues to showcase the compound. It’s like seeing the Nara estate for the first time— may as well be the first time. She had been led around walking blind. Not in complete darkness, no, the smudged fades hues of colors and the muted urgency of failing vision. She saw the glitter of her discarded hitai-ate pressed to Temari’s palm, sting of icy water _not_ her clan’s oasis but the barrel, and of course: “Your mother is the Kazekage.” 

Sharp features framed by billowing Kazekage robes, the cruel school of features assaulted Sakura’s mind.

All hope of returning home is snuffed. The mission is priority. Sunagakure above all. _Anyone_ _but_ _you_. Had it been anyone else— anyone to claim the role, Sakura could be saved. Anyone else but her mom may have had mercy. Or enough fear of Gaara they’d value her far more than— they’d need her to “tame” Gaara, to gain Oasishu favor. Her mom?

Not her.

Why would she vye for her own clan’s favor? Another could have hid behind pretense but nothing her mom will do can hide the fact or perceived fact, she’d be spending resources on retrieving Sakura. The village would see the Kazekage as weak. Sentimental. Not at all the strong leader Suna kills for, if the murdered Kazekage’s are any indication. Sakura most look all sorts of broken, because Temari continues. “Gaara is apprenticing under her. He... wants to be Kazekage. ‘Remember, always.’”

(she pushes her fist through his skull. His bloodshot eyes, pin points, teeth flashing— “This isn’t you. You hear me?” She shouts, building crunching beneath her feet, throat raw with fury. “Remember always!” Shadows seem to cross his eyes as they rapidly dilate, a growl rumbling through his body in protest. 

“They want you to fail. Do you understand?”)

for himself. For me. 

Sakura knows with an acute certainty that she will never see Sunagakure while her mother rules. Gaara is her only hope to return home.

The compound has a subdued sort of elegance. Absently Sakura flies away the layout of her prison, the twists and turns, the surrounding forest. Yoshina greets several family members, prattles on about nothing after introducing her “guest.” Mostly they slightly incline their heads in her direction and do not engage her in conversation. Sakura can’t find it in herself to feel grateful. This is her life, to be showcased, ignored, and paraded around like one of Chiyo’s puppets. 

 

The pants arrive in the dozen. Plain and practical, inoffensive. Her sandals are the Kami—awful Haruno red but both commissions are more than she dare hoped for. Grudgingly she admits that Yoshina doesn’t appear to be the type to deprive anyone. Even her. The dress bunches into a lumpy mess as she tries to pull the hem over her waist band. This small inconvenience is what tips her scale of frustration. Sakura slips the dress off, biting into the silk, tearing the material with her teeth. 

The sound is harsh, cathartic, so she pulls out another dress and does the same— tips all ten dresses. Relishes the destruction, uneven tears, fraying thread. With the leftover material she tears them into strips. Wraps them tightly around her fists. She punches the wall. Her knuckles dully flare. Fucking silk.

She does it once more, until she throws a punch, unintentionally phasing her fist through the wall in avoidance. Sakura grimaces. Annoyed, at the involuntary reaction. She tightens the strip like bandages. Doesn’t matter anyway. All of it’s redundant. Resigned, Sakura pills the quiapo _shirt_ on. The hem is uneven in several sections though she isn’t bothered, no one can touch her. No one, she repeats, as if it’s some sort of reassurance.

(It’s not it’s not it’s not.) sakura lays on her bed and stares up at the ceiling. you can’t come home. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We pick up with Sakura mid shower and the story kinda loops back to the moments leading up to her finally showering. She refuses to change or shower because she’s... well, she is technically a prisnor— so why not look like one. Suna has a history murdered Kages... so they dead ass ready to remove weakness from their ranks lmao. Gaara realizes that she won’t be able to come home— which contributes to why HE wants to become Kazekage. Obviously in this version he and Naruto don’t have a fight, but Sakura and Gaara are extremely close and as u can see the majority of Suna is still frightened of him. So he wants recognition from his village and to regain his greatest companion.
> 
> Side note: Ik it’s kinda weird the chapter focuses on her “outfit” change, but it’s a Big Deal for Sakura because by wearing Haruno colors and all that she’s in a way... giving in. Accepting her new situation as reality. 
> 
> Konaha wants Sakura because they let that bloodline slip through their fingers... So far, Sakura has been restricted to the Nara estate. Not for long lol. Kinda a short chap but I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you so much for commenting/reading, it seriously brightens my day when I see it. Anyways have a nice day/night!


	6. The Smart One

 

Chōji partially hides his face behind his bag of chips. “I dunno Shikamaru. Maybe Asuma-sensei’s right, your leave is about over.” His friend hesitates. “If you’re saddled together wouldn’t it be smarter to... be prepared?” Ino beats him to a response. “No. He doesn’t want to bring her around us.” Her compact clacks shut, stows the accessory in her pouch. “She’s,” Ino’s face contorts. “Dangerous.” 

Shikamaru heaves a sigh. Here we go.

“Yet you’re letting her run your house ordering your mom around.” Ino whirls on him, hyper focused. The accusation striking home. None of this is his choice! He had no say. She’d be in the bowels of TI for an undetermined period of time, if he had an inch of sway. (Which his dad has made adamantly clear that he does not.)

Ever the peacemaker Chōji cuts in. “C’mon, that’s not Shikamaru’s fault.”

She doesn’t buy it. “Kicking you out of your house,” snaps her fingers, “Like that. Bumming it at our places. Man up Shikamaru.”

He ignores her, reining in the spiteful reaction, plucks a chip from Chōji. “What do you know?” Their dads have never clipped their agency, they aren’t bound to a ward of the state. Did his dad even fight the council? When Shikamaru confronted his dad he sounded far more sympathetic for her than he had any right to be. _What_ _about_ _me_? 

“If she’s so ‘dangerous’ why are you letting her hang around Mrs. Yoshino? You’re being selfish Shikamaru! She could kill your mom— just because you’re too angry to follow through on your mission.” Shikamaru searches Chōji’s face, isn’t Ino being difficult, only to be affronted by the tell tale crease of Chōji’s brow. He agrees. That doesn’t bode well. “You too? My mission— how would you two feel? How’d you like housing her, enemy at your back at every turn!” 

Far from cowed Ino’s quick to grab his wrist. Her grip is firm, demands his attention. “I’m not the only one who she hurt. We need you to stop avoiding the problem. If she pulls something on a mission we need to know you can handle it.” Ino doesn’t elaborate but he understands the implications. From the looks of it Chōji shares the sentiment. These two already figured out the best way to prevent casualties while he was sulking. And _he’s_ supposed to be the smart one. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.” 

“You better.” Ino sticks her nose in the air and Chōji finally puts his chip bag down, no longer hiding. 

 

Shikaku addresses her as Yoshino rises, dishes skillfully balanced between the crook of her elbow and her forearm. Sakura stares a second too long, before carefully shifting to look at his dad. Her eyes are flat. Uninvolved. Shikamaru doesn’t believe it for a second. He despises the amount of time she spends with his mom, little that it is. Any amount is too much though his mom has yet to concede. 

“I won’t jerk you around Sakura. Your cooperation is appreciated. The council, expects more.” His dad inclines his head towards him. “As a fully functioning citizen and more importantly a shinobi of Konaha you are required to tail Shikamaru. In the village, training: missions.” Eruptly Sakura leans forward and Shikamaru _doesn’t_ flinch though he brings his hands together beneath the table, shadow jutsu at the ready. 

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest,” not a question. 

“Don’t be mistaken. This is as much leniency as we can afford you.” 

She holds his dad’s gaze for far too long, practically trembles with undisguised rage. Shikamaru itches, distaste flaring— the same dislike that rises when he hears her ‘request’ things from his mom or when she silently pads through the halls or the precise way she eats. Shikamaru reins it in. Sakura bows her head. “I understand Nara-san. May I be excused?” She stands without permission, fists clenched at her front. Leaves her dishes at the table. His blood boils. His dad must have been fed lines— she is not a citizen of Konaha, place of birth or not. Certainly isn’t a shinobi of Konaha. As he watches her exit, he thinks morosely, at least there’s one thing they can agree on.

 

When he brings her, there’s hardly anytime for egos or spite. At least on his team’s side of things. He can’t speak for the civilians who hire them out. Reconstruction is brutal, a necessary beast that requires all hands on deck. The shinobi recognize her and if the civilians hadn’t Naruto makes damn sure that they do. “Hey Shikamaru, Chōji you’re here too. Kakashi-sensei’s sleeping again— hey! Isn’t that the Sand girl from before? Teme the one who tried to stab your neck?” 

Sasuke doesn’t answer, and Shikamaru is far more worried about him than a amped up Naruto. She snap kicks him right out of her face. It’s efficient and far less violent than how she kicked Shikamaru in the preliminaries. Meant to deter not damage. Naruto falls on his ass before shoving himself up, pushing up his sleeves. “What are you doing here?” He yells. He looks like he’s about to attack once more— Shikamaru considers intervening— when Ami yanks the kid by his collar. “Naruto! Knock it off!”

Ino and Chōji stands at Shikamaru’s side, observing Sakura.

There’s not much to see. For a moment Shikamaru allows himself to believe the trouble has passed, when Sasuke speaks. “You.”

Sakura doesn’t respond. She lethargically watches Team 7, before settling on Sasuke’s form. Her blatant silence only infuriates the Uchiha. “I’m talking to you.” The tension ratchets up as a crowd begins to form around them, shinobi and civilians alike. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.” 

Sensing the crowds growing disquiet Sakura shrugs. “Tch. I haven’t noticed.” She drops the plank of wood that she was holding at her feet, turns away from the boy. Sasuke is dumb— but he isn’t dumb enough to attack a ward of the state, and he must gather as much because his eyes flare red as he glimpses her back. (A taunt without words.) He looks as if he’s going to throw it all to the wind, and Shikamaru steps forwards to intercept but Ami butts in. “Don’t bother with her Sasuke. She’s a mongrel,” Ami chirps, tone achingly sweet with disgust. “Let’s go. C’mon Naruto.” She tugs at Sasuke’s sleeve. “She’s not worth your time.” 

For once, Sasuke follows.

His teammates keep their distance from her— they’re doing this for him, but the civilians? They have no qualms with withholding resources (he grits his teeth as he offers her his ration. The girl smacks her lips, turns away. Fine— she can starve, dehydrate for all he cares!) and yell slurs from the sidelines. It’s bothersome. Sakura works steadily despite it, and he knows it’s not out of the goodness of her heart. The quality of her work is heavy, as if she’s pounding her hatred into every dimension of the buildings they work on. 

He wonders how Asuma-sensei bears it. She’s the reason his dad is dead— the Hokage— the civilians aren’t wrong to leer at her. She’s practically the reason their sons and daughters are dead— their livihoods stripped away, at square one once more. His sensei doesn’t dissuade the citizens, but his smoke puffs in their face and he reassures then they’ll get the job done. And that’s enough to convince them to judge from afar. 

Shikamaru doesn’t understand him.

It all comes to a head after a particular rough day (Ino drops wood on his foot and Chōji distracts him while he’s lifting a board and ends up smashing his thumb, the civilians spit at her feet and she walks too close to his team and it’s repulsive. Don’t they get he doesn’t want her here either?) and Shikamaru is tired. Tired of sharing his home with an enemy nin, the exhausting silence, the on edge of that eats at his nerves— it slips out. “Hurry up mongrel.”

They’re going back to the compound, she’s running infront because he’d never let her at his back and his breath stutters as she pivots to face him. **Her** **hand** **is** **in** **his** **chest**. Sakura’s mouth is a gash and his sight seems to dim, constricting until he only sees this— this girl, and **her** hand is in **his** chest. “Call me that again and I’ll remove your heart and serve it to your _mother_.” 

Her words stab his heart or maybe that’s her hand squeezing and it beats irregularly, lopsided and

she withdraws. steps away. 

Shikamaru’s heart titters, sweat drips down his face as he runs after her fading figure. the panic doesn’t wind down, certainly doesn’t when he finds her at his mother’s side, dishing out dinner. The knife in her hand glitters. Shikamaru doesn’t hesitate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy. Hope y’all enjoyed the new chapter. I’m so thankful for all the feedback I’ve gotten. 
> 
> I hope I’m not portraying Shikamaru too OC but I feel like he’s a super protective dude. And ik he’s being hard on Sakura but she DID help sac his village. I always thought the alliance— was accepted and portrayed far too easily. Like, officially they aren’t enemies BUT all those emotions aren’t going to disappear over night. Let’s be real— the civilians and some nin will still hold a grudge, like for awhile. 
> 
> I’m not sure if I made Shikamaru’s rage convincing but I tried lol. Btw they’re calling Sakura a mongrel because she’s mixed, of Suna and Konaha. Ik in our world it isn’t a commonly used derogatory term (at least not in America) but I also will not use real slurs either. I’m not saying that ppl that use racially charged languages are wrong or anything I just don’t wanna use ones that have been used historically that have been used to demean people.
> 
> Although I do head cannon the different Countries as different nationalities as a minority myself I do not want to disrespect or portray ethnic cultures as a tokenism or a plot device. I may incorporate my own culture because I never see my own portrayed in mainstream media— but if I ever cross a line that concerns Asian culture or any other please let me know. Long story short, ‘mongrel’ will be the term used that I’ve deemed sensitive enough to not violate REAL WORLD DECENCY but still convey negative associations.
> 
> However mongrel for them is basically a slur. Anyways, thanks for sticking to the story. HMU with comments, kudos, and critiques. ❤️❤️💯


	7. Mongrel of the Sand

 

‘Do you still like dango?’

Sakura stares at the question. Figures. About eight years too late. She wonders where this letter was when she was five. How homesick and scorched, young enough to miss her father— not knowing why they, her and her mom, had to leave. She missed climbing trees and sitting beneath their shade, but more importantly she missed the piggyback rides and the bedtime stories. 

Where was this interest on her birthdays? After clan orientation? That time her meal was poisoned and she only survived out of luck? How did this spineless man muster the audacity to lift pen to paper? He didn’t care. So why should he care now. Sakura doesn’t know why that particular line eats at her, there are far more infuriating points but somehow, ‘Do you still like dango? I do’... lingers.

When she was young Sakura would  squint, and amidst the haze of sand and sun she thought she saw her father. It was always a stranger, summoning scroll strapped to their back and not a bag of presents he bore like an apology for lost time. The disappointment is so distant Sakura can’t imagine feeling half of upset, the slow realization none of those distant figures would ever be her father— not for her birthday her graduation and certainly not for the clan’s ceremonies marking her as an adult. 

The letter wrinkles between her fingers.

She is and was lucky. She has her mom and one parent is far more than what most Suna children can claim. Fathers are no good anyway, if the Kazekage was any indication. He kept Suna from imploding but he isn’t kind by any stretch of the imagination. Certainly not the ideal father.

No. Fathers twisted you. They located potential, isolated it and when you didn’t meet their standards they discarded you.

She sifted through the Kazekage’s carnage and found Gaara. Temari and Kankurō came much later, after the raving. the frothing insanity that rocked his little body and she was so scared but mom said _go_ _to_ _sleep_ _gaara_ and _come_ _here_ _sakura_ _like_ _we talked about,_ and... and her mom put him under.  Phasing her arm through his skull disrupted Shukaku’s hold, and for the first time since his birth Gaara slept.

she didn’t need a father but the Siblings needed her mother. Not that her mom was overtly maternal she has a no nonsense addittude that kept children at arms length,  even Sakura— Mebuki was back. More importantly, Mebuki Oasishu, with renounced attachments to Konohagakure was back— with vengeance and a renewed patriotism.

... It seems unfair to ask now. Why does it matter when it never mattered then? (do you still like dango?)

 

“You threatened my son.”

Yoshino fiddles with the stove, scrubbing at the excess grime. While threats aren’t new Sakura knows she’s referring to earlier. Nodding, despite Yoshino not seeing it, Sakura agrees. Yes. She’s not particularly afraid of the woman, though as Shikaku’s wife her whims are heeded.

She isn’t afraid but this conversation— one sided as it is, is akin to being caught in a lie.

Yoshino seizes cleaning, catches her rubber gloves between her teeth, and sheds them. The slow scratch of rubber as she balls them up before tossing them into the sink is terribly mundane. In no particular hurry to bridge the subject. She must be brimming with questions after what she witnessed. Sakura waits. “You understand why that bothers me?”

Yoshino turns. Her emotions are indiscernible. The closest Sakura can think of is when Mebuki learned of the Kazekage’s brother in law and the order he carried out. The shaded reserve of.... nodding once more, enraptured, Sakura ponders the outcome of this confrontation. What does the woman hope to achieve?

“Shikamaru is a good son. He’s trying his best. More than you might think.”

Her disagreement is immediate. Yoshino raises her hand in acknowledgment. “This is a difficult adjustment, I know, but you have to try too.”

Sakura bites the inside of her cheek until it draws blood. “He called me mongrel,” admitting it is rotten, like rye bread that drives people mad. But she isn’t going to sit through this lecture like she’s at fault.

They’ve always called them that. the demon and the mongrel. In Sunakagure it was different, earned. Almost everyone was a street rat or equally other— it was fair because none of them were any better, and certainly not the junchiriki and his consort. But here? Here they say it and think her blood is piss. spit at her feet, branding her. mongrel of the sand

Her introspection is interrupted by the woman. “Okay.” Her eye’s are hard, lips pressed tightly together. A sort of understanding passes between them. She doesn’t make Sakura promise— a promise that she won’t likely keep, but Sakura isn’t disagreeing either. Yoshino forks over Sakura’s desert. They sit in silence, the older woman meticulously scribbling on a piece of paper as Sakura swallows the doughy sweet. It tastes like betrayal. It shouldn’t. (yoshino  doesn’t have to ask if she likes dango.)

 

Ruby red nails click impatiently against wood, a drum of disinterest that scrapes at the small of Sakura’s back.

White and red trim robes hang at the back of her chair, Kage hat hazardously strewn across paperwork. The woman sitting at the desk goes by many aliases: Tsunade Senju, though the most current would have to be Godaime Hokage. She’s breathtakingly young and resembles photographs far more than her legitimate age. The Slug Princess— or Chiyo‘s personal favorite— The Slug Girl of Konohagakure.

The genjutsu is glaringly obvious, but as Sakura flexes a thread of chakra to her eyes, the youth of the ancient woman before her holds fast. She wonders if she could break it if she tried. Though, she doesn’t pursue it, who knows the consequences of that. The Godaime’s ponytails rest on each of her breasts, daringly feminine. Senju exudes power. Too large for what is essentially a desk job but small enough to bare what’s necessary. Sakura wonders if this is what her mom looks like, clan clothes swapped out for formal wear. for a moment the image of Mebuki and Gaara superimposes the Godaime and her apprentice.

mint green trim highlights Mebuki’s stern expression, pink brows wrinkled, fingers neatly laced together. gaara stands off to the side, kohl applied far less liberally (he’s getting sleep) and

the moment is fleeting as the sun.

”—For capturing and securing a high rank nin amidst the invasion and, frankly, being the only genin the Third recommended... I promote you to the rank of Chuunin.”

”Permission to speak freely?” Shikamaru asks. 

“If this is about how ‘troublesome’ your promotion is,” the woman warns.

He takes that as permission. Sakura knows he must be serious, he takes his hands out of his pockets. Oddly this reminds her of the Chuunin exams. “May I be relieved of my... current ‘mission’?” The slow hash tells Sakura how hesitant he his request is— though after yesterday’s incident he must be vying to be rid of her. She hardly stifled the twisted smirk that threatens to stretch across her face, he must be using the full extent of his Nara brains for the surgery of subterfuge and diplomacy he’s braving. With Tsunade Senju no less.

It’s terribly ironic how Sakura knows his Hokage better than he does. 

“Listen here brat. Orders are orders. Now get out of sight, take this with you,” she shoved the Chuunin vest at him. “Leave your friend. I have bussiness with her.”

 

Her fingernails carve little half moons into Sakura’s jaw. She tries not to pant, a sliver of trepidation slides through her gut, as the Godaime rotates her head not ungently. Not even with the tips of her fingers. The bite of nail is enough to subject herself to the Godaime’s whim, needles at Sakurs’s self preservation.

_One_ _punch_

though many have liquified under less. Chiyo has told her first hand accounts of the insides of those who have crossed the Slug Girl. Soup. Their insides resemble soup. Really, it’s a matter of who can respond immediately— can she phase quicker than the Godaime  directs chakra to her fingernails? Her mom could have but Sakura is leaps and bounds away from Mebuki’s level. The Hokage’s eyes are amber, like the sap that drips from trees, their intensity squeezes her nerves and devours her 

“Well what do we have here? Looks like a scene from a fan favorite Icha Icha scene.” The new arrival comes from the window, male, and incredibly upbeat. Sakura knows better than than to pull away from a predator to get a glimpse though. 

“Jiraiya, took you long enough.”

The Godaime releases her, moved towards what Sakura now recognizes as a Sannin. 

“Don’t act like you miss me.” He gives the Godaime a hearty laugh, then seems to notice Sakura. “Wow who’s this little lady?” 

“That,” Tsunade points a perfectly manicured nail in Sakura’s direction. “Is why I asked you here.” 

The brightness immediately dims, like a switch is cut. Instead Jiraiya sighs. “I thought so.” He rubs at his hair, before smiling. “Well in that case I’m going to need you to take your shirt off.” Sakura can’t help but sneer at the perverted tone. Her hands waver at her sides, he’s known for being a peeping tom— genin bait, much? and shoots the Hokage an affronted glare.

Tsunade raises an eyebrow. “For a seal. You are in Konohagakure’s care for an indeterminate period of time and until such a need arises for your bloodline limit, you need to be sealed.”

”What?” It comes out as a croak. Emotional— the suppression of the past few weeks tickle at the back of her throat, they want to seal her chakra! 

“Don’t worry about it little lady it won’t hurt a bit.”

“You can’t do that.” 

“Is that a no? I can deliver your message to your mother now, though I can’t say how our treaty will fair if she agrees with you.” It’s as if the world lurches to the side. Sly, pointed like a dagger. On every side of the matter there is no choice. Senju’s face remains neutral, not the harrowing monster that has begun echoing inside Sakura’s mind, though maybe that’s worse. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing she had crept up.

Sakura’s fingers fumble at the hem of her shirt. She clenches the balled fabric between her fists, eyes on the ground. She wishes she could stare at them in defiance. To scream her objections in every aspect of her existence. Instead she can hardly choke down the protests. She shuts her eyes tight in hopes the tears won’t drip down her front. 

“Do you need her to remove her bra?”

“No. That should be enough.”

he draws the seal where her shoulders and neck converge. He’s thorough, and though it’s small it must be intricate with how long it takes. The ink is room temperature, Jiraiya’s hand is steady. when he channels chakra into the seal it is frosty, sharp like ice water in the lungs, and Sakura involuntary goes rigid. She hisses at the sensation as her her chakra begins to gravitate towards the seal. a painful process as most of her reserves are wrenched from their ordinary channels. 

“You can feel that?” Jiraiya almost looks concerned, as he tucks his fuinjutsu supplies away. 

The sensation makes her feel frail. 

“Huh. Beautiful and talented, that’s quite the chakra control you got there kid.” 

 

She doesn’t remember who brings her back to the compound. She wakes up in her room, and her body recoils— knows before Sakura remembers. Hunger may be the only way to describe it. The swollen hollowness of hunger, dredged throughout the empty canals of her body. It feels unnatural in a way expending her reserves never had.

In the moment it hadn’t occurred to her. There was too much to consider: the two Sannin, the treaty that rests on her shoulders, and the snot globbing at the back of her throat that forces her to breath through her mouth so they don’t hear her sniffle— wouldn't get the privilege of breaking her.

but the Godaime and the Seal Master are well versed in getting their enemies to heel: the more mere act of disrobing is discomfort. She knows this tactic, has experienced it but the sting that wells deep inside her chest like something is being scooped out of her and smeared across her body, that feeling doesn’t go away. Intellectually she sees it for what it is and it’s working.

A good Shinobi doesn’t rely on any field a good Shinobi.... If she is nothing without chakra she was never anything to begin with.

She unwraps the fabric acting as bandages around her wrists. _Why_ _not_ _here_? 

The wrappings wouldn’t make the seals inaccessible, inconvenient maybe. Order her to toss them. Strut her around. Sure would soothe the civilians. Pluck that sick tune, maybe it would even satisfy the nin. Look how far we’ve come. She’s muzzled, _I_ _can’t_   _hurt_ _you_ _now_ _Little_ _Leaf_. 

Her seal isn’t physically painful. The concentration of chakra tweaks, like a fresh bruise but the sensation isn’t tangible. Sakura toys at the skin. There are no protrusions or swelling. No distinct tell of the Seal Masters handy work. Nothing she can work with— she isn’t the best at seals but if only she could study it...

her shame twines, coils.

If the flesh was marred, gaping, or indented then— she’d magically become competent enough to combat a fuinjutsu master? The bitter rush of inadequacy keeps her running her fingers over the seal. Her fascination is interrupted by reality, another day. She forces herself to get up.

Sakura keeps her hair down, a sheet of pink to a hide even a slight glimpse of the seal. 

She dares someone to notice. Wants someone to ask. _Look_ _what_ _your_ ‘ _nice_ ’ _village_ _did_. _Do_ _you_ _see_ _me_? They’ll take pride. No one will care. The Will of Fire consumes all. never sated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok ik I dropped a huge ass bomb! And like, aye.
> 
> See, Tsunade had to intimidate Sakura in a wild manner because a physical threat wouldn’t have meant much with Sakura’s abilities. She pulled some physiological shit right there.
> 
> And yeah, the sealing thing... just keep in mind this is all third person limited so Sakura def does NOT know everything that’s going on here. All of that will be explained EVENTUALLY. I’m also trying to make Sakura’s grief realistic. She has to put up a strong front but she is NOT emotionless. Yes she is a trained shinobi from Suna but she was tortured a while in T&I, not to mention she’s 12. Anyone would have issues being somewhere new and constantly under duress. 
> 
> If that makes any sense?
> 
> Again, I am so thankful to everyone who comments. You guys literally make my day when I see your feedback. I’m always so happy that people are interested in my work.
> 
> Comment, kudos, and critique!
> 
> P.S. I was going to make this a holiday present but let’s see how long I actually last. For some reason I’m like, the worst at sitting on chapters. When I think I’m done with a chap I immediately wanna post lmao. That also explains a lot of my spelling mistakes 💀😂
> 
> ^ I lasted to the day after Christmas lmao.


	8. If You Expect Sympathy

  

Shikamaru’s fingers twitch across his sternum, the heartbeat solid. Normal. Not the quivering eruption of before, the thick beat that nearly prevents him from stopping the attack: knife glittering as she spins it, soap suds dripping onto the floor, mom unsuspecting— _crack_! 

Sakura reels back, blood flowing from where he slammed her head into the edge of the counter. Smoke puffs out from the substitution clouding his vision. He can’t make out the weapon but _mom’s_ _safe_! His heart leaps as he senses movement infront of him, he palms a kunai 

“Shikamaru!” His body halts without permission, the smoke clears revealing Sakura frozen in a similar position. “What is going on?” His mom’s voice is stern, toes the line of furious. Isn’t it obvious? He’s stopping her from stabbing her! He says as much, though less articulate, at this point his heart feels as if someone is still squeezing it. “She was helping me do dishes!” Yoshino reiterates, tightening the shadows restraining the two teenagers. 

“She has a knife,” Shikamaru objects.

His mom gives him a look. “I use knives to cook.”

Why is she acting like wielding weapons are normal behavior? “Pointing at you—”

“Hilt first Shikamaru. We need to work on your snap judgements.” His mom gauges the situation, deems it safe, and drops the jutsu to fret over the injured girl. “Oh Sakura.” 

None of it’s adding up. She was going to kill her! If he hadn’t shown up...! Panic hiccups, rolls from the depths of his gut past his faulty heart and, “Mom.” 

There must be something in his voice, Yoshino pauses, fingers hovering over Sakura’s wound. Apologizing his mom hands Sakura a compress from inside the freezer. “I’ll check on you later. Please excuse us.” The girl glares. “Tch.” blood drips from beneath the compress, stains her eyebrow. The red is a malevolent contrast to the venomous green orbs that sear him. His heart totters in memory, as if it knows she was the one.

The concerned, familiar arch of his mom’s face is what loosens his self control. His knees thunk against the floor. Tearing off his shirt he frantically peers at his chest. How is he alive how   there is no damage. No sign of what she did. 

His mom frowns, crouches down. “Shikamaru calm down. Tell me what happened.” and he does. her hand in his chest, squeezing. Finding her with a knife at his mom’s side. Fear cracks his speech pattern into an ineligible ramble. It’s embarressing, he hasn’t acted like such a kid since— since before the Academy but he’s... the warmth of his mom’s hug, fabric soaking his tears, he’s crying? is what grounds him. 

he thinks that’s it. 

The final straw. His mom sees Sakura for what she is, a dangerous criminal. A murderer. Mom will force his dad to to get rid of her. Pawn her off to T&I of some other clan, anywhere but here! His mom certainly appears to agree, if the the tight lipped expression she wears as she escorts him to his room is any indication. He’s wrong. 

 

“You’re going to let one little girl get the jump on you?” His dad’s scar pulls tight, emphasizes his scowl. From the rumpled attire he’s sporting, he must have just got back from a mission. Shikaku does not look pleased with the state of his household.

Luckily his mom doesn’t throw him to the wolves. “It’s unacceptable. We have to think about how this is affecting Shikamaru.” His mom folds her arms across her chest, though she doesn’t look at him. The uncharacteristic avoidance should set off warning signs but Shikamaru is groggy, rattled by the nights events. Mostly he’s fine with her not looking at him. She’d see how grateful he is and it would be something she’d lord over him years to come. 

His dad has no such qualms, glaring openly at his son. Mouth twisted in disappointment. “He’s a shinobi, if he can’t handle this mission he minds well sign discharge papers papers now.” He stalks closer to Shikamaru’s bed, looks at Yoshino from over his shoulder. “If he can’t learn to suss out a subject in a controlled environment Shikamaru doesn’t deserve to be on the field.” He turns his attention back to his son. “You think this will be the last time you’re threatened?”

“She threatened mom!”

His dad snorts. “No. She threatened you. In case you haven’t noticed Yoshino is the only one Sakura can stand.”

Outraged Shikamaru engages his mom. “You’re going to let him keep her— she’s going to kill us,” Shikamaru stresses. Hot tears boil at his eyes and it’s demeaning but he can also use them to play to his mom’s maternal instincts. They’re not disingenuous, he’s desperate. If anyone can bend his dad’s will it’s his mom.

Unfortunagely his dad already accounted for any emotional turbulence, interrupts the loaded plea, “Look underneath the underneath. Sakura can’t do anything besides spook you. Don’t tell me you forgot the trial already,” his dad sighs.

Finally, his mom looks at Shikamaru. Immediately he recognizes the steel set in them. 

“Request the seal or all of this is **over** , Shikaku.” 

The breath is knocked out of him. No no no. Seal? Mom isn’t calling quits?

“As for you Shikamaru, I don’t want to ever hear that kind of language from you again. Ever.” It doesn’t take much to realize what she’s talking about. “I can’t do anything about them calling her that but I won’t stand for my son to sink to such levels.” 

The reprimand, strikes deep. “This is my fault? I didn’t—” 

“You provoked a mentally unstable political prisoner. I assumed you analyzed the situation. Sakura has complied so far for the good of her village. Take a leaf from her book, do your job.” His dad shakes his head. “You should know better. Whatever emotional block you have get rid of it. Get over yourself.” His dad exits the room, grumbling to himself.

Yoshino lingers. “Stop... letting your fear of Sakura get in the way. Use your head Shikamaru,” a kunai slides out from the inside of her sleeve, catches the light. “It’s true that I am your mom but I am also a kunoichi.” 

With a vague slight of hand the kunai is stowed away. “Your dad is right. You need to look underneath the underneath... this resentment you carry will only harm what little civility this situation has gained.” 

“You’re okay with her trying to kill me?”

His mom drowns, clearly not ‘okay’ with Sakura’s actions. 

“No, but what you did...” She meets his eyes, and Shikamaru realizes some of that polished steel is for him. “I don’t blame her. Do you know what they call people from Wind Country?” His mom doesn’t wait for him to respond. “Sand mongrels.” The slur is harsh, spiteful. Not at all something that his mom would willingly utter. “And we have taken her, half breed of all half breeds. Konoha’s mascot. _The_ Sand Mongrel, that’s what they call her, correct?” His mom stands, stiffly makes her way to the door. “Do not participate in hatred if you expect sympathy.”

 

He stews, tosses and turns. 

Splays his hand across his chest to relieve the phantom _ba_ - _th_ _ba_ - _th_ of a struggling heartbeat. He tries to forget the unnatural give, how easily she slid her hand through muscle and bone. Fingers wrapping around the muscle like a trap.

_call_ _me_ _that_ _again_ _and_ _i’ll_ _remove_ _your_ _heart_ _and_   _serve_   _it_ _to_ _your_ _mother_.

Shikamaru can taste the blood rising at the back of his throat— but it was never there to begin with. There was no blood or shredded chest cavities. 

_call_ _me_ _that_ _again_ it’s not the reason. He doesn’t distrust her because... because her skin is dark. That deep brown that has reddish yellow undertones, nothing like the light peach shades of Konoha. Not because her plump lips and strange set of her cheekbones and nose. He doesn’t care that she’s Suna and Konoha. He does care that she’s a Suna nin that destroyed sectors of his home. His soul aches when he hears the casualty number— so, how can he fault the people of Konohagakure?

They’re expressing themselves in the only way they know how. he can’t go to sleep. The thought splinters. complacent.

Shikamaru doesn’t hate her for what she is: only what she has done. Can he say the same for the other citizens?

Long held prejudice isn’t uncommon in the older generations. The Second and Third war aren’t nearly as distant as the Academy lessons portray them to be. For some, the Invasion must be some sort of affirmation. Confirming their long term suspicion and distrust towards Suna.

How they verbally harrassed and threw things. Now that he’s inspecting his memories, it usually was the same characters that came around. Pinching the bridge of his nose Shikamaru sighs. No wonder she snapped. He let them do those thing, or at least, never tried to stop them. Sure Sakura deserves... deserves a whole lot but not because the color of her skin or her mixed nationality. At the rate things were going he should consider himself lucky she didn’t attack one of the harassers. Though he resents being the one that she did.

Huffing, he rolls onto his side. (he dreams of half finished heartbeats and jaded eyes)

 

Shikamaru tugs at the collar of his newly minted flack jacket, uncomfortable. Though she isn’t here her presence looms at his shoulder, and he can hardly enjoy his ‘celebration’ for making Chuunin. 

He addresses Asuma-sensei but mostly Ino and Chōji, since sensei isn’t the problem. “Look I know... I haven’t set a great example, but we have to start treating Sakura like a...” He struggles, unsure of how to finish. She’s not an honored guest or a comrade nor a client. Sure as hell not someone he’d willingly interact with. He looks to Asuma-sensei for help. He flicks ash off his cigarette, go on. 

“Parasite,” Chōji interrupts. 

“Where is this coming from Shikamaru?” Ino drills him with a suspicious gaze. “Did she brainwash you or something?”

His chest itches but he resists clawing at it. 

“Treating her subhuman only makes things worse. She’s pigeonholed. Her mom’s Kazekage, any misbehavior will indirectly affect intra-village relations.” Ah, so this is what his dad meant. Before, all the emotional baggage obscured what was right infront of him. “As a ward of the Nara clan Sakura will not be treated like,” he hesitates, shuns the slur from his vocabulary. “How she has been.”

Chōji and Ino nod, profiles in varying degrees of understanding of his implication. He gives them time to consider. 

“Alright,” Ino says. She thumbs the fading scar that the Sand nin burnt into her skin.

Chōji is slower. Studies Shikamaru and Ino in turn. “If you think it’s best.” Immediately Shikamaru feels guilty. He wonders how his best friend managed to act so hardened with his gentle spirit. Fear mongering made monster of them all. 

Asuma-sensei pulls him to the side, after dinner. “You’re doing the right thing Shikamaru.” Maybe it would feel good if Shikamaru wasn’t so conflicted. His drive isn’t kindness, merely a new approach.

 

Sakura doesn’t come to dinner. “What, she gets room service now?” He can’t smother the edge in the inquiry.

His mom spares him a glance. “She needs to build her strength.”

He may have come to terms with the foul mistreatment, how he can’t stand for this unwarranted discrimination, but at his core Shikamaru doesn’t like her. “So she got lectured by the Hokage. Shouldn’t she be doing womanly things like the dishes?” 

His jab, a reference to how Sakura is far more clever than she has any right to be. After attacking him she must have known he’d flip when he caught her doing the dishes— did she wait to clean the knife the moment he stepped through the door? 

“Be quiet,” his mom snaps. She walks away, presumably to deliver the meal. 

 

The adjustment, his commitment to eradicate the ‘behavior’ is rough. 

She acts differently. Listless. The oppressing silence transitions into an almost subdued quality. Shikamaru might have misconstrued the change as nothing, but he’s working overtime to compensate for his idoidicy from before and remains diligent in all regards to the ward. So, he notices this minute change in personality, in habits. There’s a physical manifestation of her despondency. Her high bun, gives way to loose hair that’s everywhere. Bangs that cover her eyes. It’s weird, demure. Something he knows she most certainly is not.

He can’t do much about it. Shikamaru leaves her alone, she isn’t exactly up to anything, and he supposes that affords her privacy. It’s not a perfect. Civilians still trail them to harass her but with the combined efforts of Ino-Shika-Cho and sensei it’s not hard to screen the worst of abuse. Not that Sakura reacts either way. The routine that picks up is neither here nor there. He doesn’t feel at ease but he isn’t terrified either. For the most part he’s allowed to stick around his Team despite his new responsibilities. 

 

 

 

Sakura whirls, though she positions herself so that Kayuya remains in her periphery. The detached, concentrated set of her facial expression all but bursts. Killing intent— like a forest fire— flares up on sight. “Kimimaro.” The fact she knows his name is just another thing to tack on the long list of Things That are Going Wrong Today. 

The first being the summons.

’Sasuke’ and ‘defected’ don’t belong anywhere in the same sentence. Yet here we are, Shikamaru thinks drily to himself. Ami’s eyes are damp, says, Sasuke’s house his room is barren (never mind what she was doing in the Uchiha sector in the first place), and that she saw him interacting with foreign nin a day prior.

What it comes down to is defection, and somehow Shikamaru’s lands the job of retrieving the guy. It’s his first real mission: Retrieve the Uchiha.

A squad limited to genin isn’t ideal. If they were jounin, he’ll even chuunin... no genin has the experience the mission so desperately needs. Certainly not Shikamaru.

Tsunade is quicker, burlesque. Her solution is almost worse than wet behind the ears genin and a recently promoted chuunin. “—go collect your squad, Sakura will meet you at the front gates.” He wants to give his professional opinion, she does not belong on this mission. She’s a flight risk. How’s he supposed to juggle his ongoing mission of guarding her and retrieve Sasuke? He won’t stand for it. Except... Shikamaru can’t give that opinion. From a tactical standpoint he’d be irresponsible to not bring her. Sakura may have conducted an invasion and destroyed large amounts of his village but she also conducted a nearly successful invasion and subdued a junchiriki. 

He can’t in good conscious exempt her.

Shikamaru nearly has a mutiny on his hands before they step a foot out of the front gate. His squad takes longer to gather than it took for her... meeting with the Hokage, Sakura leans against the gate, eying them with a cool gaze as they stroll up. 

“She’s not going! She’s the last person who wants Sasuke back, she tried to kill him!” Naruto shouts, practically throws a fit when he realizes Sakura will be coming with them. What’s worse is the fact the rest of the squad doesn’t chastise him for questioning his commander. 

“What’s the deal Shikamaru?” Kiba’s canine’s peek from beneath his curled lip. Neji’s posture echos the sentiment. Shikamaru is glad Chōji doesn’t seem to be questioning him, but the distrustful glances he’s giving Sakura isn’t helping either. 

“I’m not too crazy about Sasuke myself, Naruto. But today we’re setting our emotions aside,” he gives the blond a hard look. It applies to him as much as Sakura. “I’m not one to talk, usually I’m a relaxed guy... but not today. All of us have to be willing to put our lives on the line to succeed. I’m responsible for all of you— any insobordination is immediate failure. Do you want that?”

Shikamaru looks them all in the eyes. Neji, Kiba, Chōji. Naruto.

There’s a general consensus: their desire to save Sasuke far outstrips their distrust of Sakura.

That’s all he can ask for, he supposes. As he orders them to show him their weapons poach, he goes over the formation. “...and Sakura will trail,” he doesn’t finish the thought. Naruto’s hackles rise and the sudden reminder of her true ilk makes him doubt his own rationale. Sighing, Shikamaru runs his hand through his ponytail. 

“Can you suppress your chakra signature?” That’s what had got the Oto nin caught, after all. 

“Yes.” 

He nods. “Alright, let’s go.” 

The decision to proceed despite it all is the second thing That’s Going Wrong Today. Yet, Shikamaru can’t afford to question Sakura’s loyalty, her intentions, he’s made his decision and so has the Hokage— it uninventiably blows up in his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I’m trying to make the reconciliation as realistic as possible. He’s had his own traumatic shit to deal with— some directly caused by Sakura (whether her actions were justified or not depends on perspective) so he enabled others by being a bystander. While Shikamaru himself isn’t racist or hateful because of Sakura’s mixed status... like, that doesn’t mean other people aren’t.
> 
> And idk what it’s like to be on the side of things where I’m the majority who benefits from a systemic racism irl, so I hoped I portrayed Shikamaru in an ok way. Like I’m not trying to damn him. People learn and grow— they realize their mistakes, and they shed their prejudice and advocate for others.
> 
> So yeah. I’m trying to set him up for that but there’s also a lot of shit to work through to get him to a point that will?? Like not be shitty? Idk lol. 
> 
> The ba-th ba-th is a half finished heartbeat cos ba-thump, would be a full one. Lmao sorry if that looked weird. Uhh yeah. Y’all bout to be SHOOK next chapter. 
> 
> Comment, kudos, and critique. Seriously whenever I get a comment I literally cheese so hard. Thanks for sticking to the story so long. Have a good weekend y’all. I have finals coming up so idk if I’ll update too often in the next two weeks but we’ll see. Ight, duces.


	9. Retribution

 

She’s never been more annoyed with nature. After a solid half hour she’s finally managed an acceptable pace— one that won’t surpass the squadron’s, but also one that relies far more on momentum rather than chakra. She’d rather risk falling than expend unnecessary chakra, especially considering the Deserter. 

The tree limbs are sturdy, easy to spring off. It’s a chore to restrict speed. The dunes are a lot less forgiving than the foliage.

Exploratively, she nudges chakra near the seal. She scowls. The integrity practically remains immaculate. It was delusional to hope she could tamper with it. She increases her speed to combat the growing fury that wells up, like a shiner.

Shikamaru’s plan isn’t necessarily a bad one but he isn’t really accounting for how dumb his squad is either. They have no discipline.

Sakura observes the dome and the man leaning into it. The earthen dome would be essy enough to burn to a crisp, but the squad is trapped inside. Idiots— this village consists of idiots, and not much else. 

The dome isn’t an earthern technique she’s seen before. What kind of lousy nin has to maintain contact with the element for it to work? Useless technique if she’s ever seen one. Sakura circles the clearing, just out of the man’s sight, until she’s directly behind him. Unless... unless he’s reinforcing the thing for extra security? Squinting, she can just make out the dome give off a faint blue aura. Chakra. He’s either using a large of amount of his own to keep them in or... or, he’s siphoning theirs. Well there’s isnt time to waste then, is there.

“Did you really think I’d let you out? If so, you really deserve to di—“

His blood sprays across stone in a violent spurt of red. The nin doesn’t have time to withdraw his hands from the his Chakra Dome, barely manages to twist his neck. By then it’s too late. Sakura pays no mind to him as he slumps across the surface. “I agree,” she grits out. How long have they been in this shitty contraption? 

There’s a moment of silence. She’s annoyed, what does she have to spoon feed them an escape route too, when “Hey is that...!” and the junchiriki’s muffled “She came back...” before finally, Shikamaru bustles into action. Orders Hyuuga and Inuzuka to bust them out.

As the boys emerge from the crumbling structure it becomes increasingly apparent how underqualified Leaf shinobi are. This is Shikamaru’s cream of the crop pick? She seethes, kicks a stone clear across the clearing in frustration. It would be far more satisfying to let them travel this path. Let the brunt of failure cave their teeth in, drown in their compliance and incompetency. She rolls another stone back and forth beneath her sandal, ridges catching at the thing before she crushes it with a stomp. No. The parameters of The Hokage’s orders are specific, no wriggle room for sabotage. 

As the genin gather their wits she addresses Shikamaru. “Report.”

Inuzuka snarls, steps across the rubble. “He doesn’t answer to you.” 

Sakura ignores him. Shikamaru frowns, neither supporting or reprimanding his subordinate. She can practically see him running through simulations, weighing and calculating the outcomes of responding. The battle he wages lasts less than fifteen seconds. Smart, if every second wasted wasn’t counting against the missions success. 

“Four that we could see. Three male one female. Sasuke’s in a sealed box, Neji can’t see through it. One has chakra enforced ‘webs’.”

That catches her attention. She never took a shine to puppetry but if Kankurō has taught her anything, it’s the strengths and weaknesses of the art form. This nin sounds like he’s modifying material with chakra. She can work with this. Sakura turns her attention to the pale eyed boy. “Hyuuga,” after all, chakra enforced material pales in comparison to the raw form. “Your clan specializes in finding chakra points— the material he’s using is weaker than chakra thread. Find weak spots break past his defense and,” she gestures with her kunai.

After all, close combat can quickly spell disaster for puppeteers. “End him.” 

His pearlescent eye’s don’t waver from her’s at the implication. Though his brow furrows, as if he’s puzzling out an exceptionally difficult equation.

Sakura disregards the behavior, glances at the body half buried beneath rubble. “They’re willing to leave people behind— don’t dawdle, if you think you can take one, square up. We will not be halting the procession for a goodbye kiss,” she glares at the boys, who glare right back. “They’ll use monologueing to delay our pursuit.” 

She tilts her head towards Shikamaru. It’s annoying how efficiently he accepts the shift in power. More so because in the end she has to defer back to him after laying out an accurate and worth while plan. Her consolation, at least he’s not dumb enough to deny merit.

His eyes narrow minutely. “Resume formation. Sakura take the rear.”

Desperation and testerone practically drips off Uzumaki. He’d do nicely if he wasn’t so soft hearted. For someone who is adamant on reclaiming his teammate he nearly costs them a detour to beg Hyuuga a fair well.

Hyuuga is easier. A branch member— she recalls the sordid secrets revealed during the Chuunin exams. _That_ would make him a good shinobi, the kind that believes in destiny and misplaced prestige: the kind that follows orders. He doesn’t hesitate to peel off from the main group. Sakura urges the others through the spider-like nin’s hasty barricade, which isn’t disgustingly simple. Uzumaki nearly doubles back to say his piece.

The nin’s mode of attack is airborne projectiles coated with chakra. Not impossible for her to phase but hell of a waste of her reserves if she keeps at it. She barks a well placed barb, revitalizes his sense of urgency. Uzumaki sends her a dirty look but ends his well wishes when Shikamaru reasserts her order. That particular bit burns on it’s way down. How the mighty have fallen. 

She refocuses her fury on strategy. Spider nin was more competent than the last. She huffs, scans the forest. Hyuuga will hold him. He was decent during the Exams, brutal enough to not stumble when it comes to a killing blow. His cousin would know. Brown and green blur on either side of her. _Two_ _nin_ _down_ , she thinks to herself. The next one might even prove to be a challenge— depending on how quickly the squad closes in, the next nin may be Oto nin’s best fighter. In hopes of compelety deterring pursuit. 

Or not. There could be back up ahead, they are dangerously close to the border. The real question then, is who to leave next? Konoha’s squad has numbers for now, but none of them particularly stood out in the Exams. Akimichi has raw power but depended a great deal on his teammates for mental support on and off duty. Competent but unsure of how to take initiative. Inuzuka had potential to deliver damage but had overestimated his own depth during preliminaries. 

Shikamaru and Akimichi are the logical pairing, being teammates would give them an advantage. She quickly rules Shikamaru out. He’s far too protective over Akimichi. Would prioritize his friend over the mission, and as the official commander— it wouldn’t do for him to be benched so soon. Uzumaki and Inuzuka would be destructive but a pairing like that? Far too brash. Pawning the junchiriki off isn’t an option either. The boy is too unruly. 

She remembers him crying over the Uchiha, gathering him into a gaggle of limbs as the world lit up in flames. 

He’s too invested to take orders, to do his job. Shikamaru should have left him in the dark. Even the love sick Yamanaka girl would have been sufficient. Get Shikamaru close enough to immobilize the fiend and Yamanaka disable his mind, that would have been ideal. But Sakura doesn’t have ideal. 

She has a limited amount of time and a decision to make. Akimichi and Inuzuka it is.

It’s a testament to Shikamaru’s faith in his teammate rather than her judgement that he allows Akimichi and Inuzuka to separate from the ranks. And, maybe some of his own intellect. Sakura doesn’t particularly care. Her priority is retrieving Sasuke until a superior informs her otherwise and none of these trust falls are going to change that. 

“Akimichi act as handler,” she cuts through another proclamation of love, or whatever these Leaf nin think they’re doing.

 

They’re close.

Achingly, mind numbingly so. Of course that’s how they get sloppy. The rush of wind and forest noises are foreign, fucking birds twitter in the background and it’s not a valid excuse but it is the reason she doesn’t immediately register the tweedy noise. A morose ballad that begins to rise from nowhere.

Uzumaki is closest. She lunges into him as the club comes down. Sakura manuavers, propels them up the tree trunk, evaluating— phases as a second blow splinters the trunk. The thing fractures beneath their feet and Uzumaki shudders as the weapon passes through their body but she keeps a firm hold of him until the giant retracts it. “Let go of me,” he shouts. 

She searches the surrounding area. Where’s Shikamaru? 

“We can take it.” Uzumaki protests, thrashes. Annoyed, Sakura shoves his wrist away, hops to a neighboring tree just out of the giant’s reach. A summons? Beneath the crunch and subsequent cracking of foliage Sakura can pinpoint a sharp rise of notes. A flute.

As the music picks up the giant follows suit. She opens her mouth to relay her plan to Naruto when the music cuts off mid note. It takes a second to realize it must be Shikamaru. The giant freezes mid step, and she grudgedly acknowledges he beat her to this one. The filthy blinded thing is stock still, Uzumaki gapes at it. “Look who finally figured it out,” Shikamaru calls. 

He sounds far too confident for being a one for four commander. She remains stoic as she approaches the tree limb he, the nin, and the box are perched on. 

“What you knew this whole time!” Uzumaki accuses. He looks ready to charge at Shikamaru before he realizes the commander’s shadow jutsu is the only thing restraining the nin. It is irritatingly long for him to notice the box resting at Shikamaru’s feet. “You did it!” He leaps into the branch, hefts up the box containing his teammate. Uzumaki gives her a serious look. “Don’t drop him, he’s a bastard enough as is.” Like he wasn’t carelessly handling the box himself. Sakura opens her arms sarcastically wide, throws in mocking ‘hurry up already’ gesture in. He winds back the box forwards, and a pale white figure swoops in, seamlessly alternates the boxes trajectory, away from her, all within a blink of an eye. 

His voice is impossibly soft. Sakura doesn’t hear any of it. Not the sweet dulcet, the polite greeting, nor the veiled determination behind necessities. 

No. She hears sirens. “Kimimaro.”

 

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time there was a little girl with a notorious temper. She lived in a rich, bountiful land full of warriors and civilians. Her father was the latter, her mother the former, from a separate less well off country. Her mother frowned upon emotion, told the little girl where she was from there was no place for weakness. Her father doted on his daughter. She could do no wrong and neither could her outbursts, said her nature exemplified his land’s will. Neither told the little girl that she inherited her anger from her mother.

 

 

 

 

Distantly, she hears Shikamaru order her to follow— the flute twitters, Uzumaki is hot on her heels, she has eyes only for him. 

Kimimaro.

 _Look_ _around_! _That_ _bastard_ _isn’t_ _here_. _We’re_ _going_ _to_ _lose_! Temari pulls something she hasn’t done in years _I_ _order_ _you_ — 

gut clenching repulsion that rises up like bile whenever she thinks of thinks of the oasis. Her oasis. Sakura tongues the spot where her molar used to be, thinks of the village who shits on Sunagakure, puts on airs like they’re so much better. sand mongrels. and her seal pulsates, an icy sensation that nearly pierces through the haze accumulating.

if Kimimaro came they would have won. She wouldn’t be captured. Suna would prosper. She—

She is going to make his mistake a fatal one.

 

Blood and flesh flap around the exit wounds, bone peaks through the gore, and she wonders how many bones are in the human body. His arsenal is bountiful but there are necessary structures in that he can’t realistically do without if he wants to fight.

she engages in a half dance half attack  indiscriminately chucking kunai, shrunken, and exploding tags. 

The bone projectiles are grisly, disgusting and Uzumaki stumbles along side her erratic assaults. He’s slower to dodge and more concerned with the box Kimimaro sits behind him. That’s fine. Sakura grins. Uzumaki flinches at the feral expression, says something about an opening. he loses her at some point because she doesn’t care. 

Kimimaro’s face is swallow, garments hang off him like he is ill. He’s merely skin and bones, the latter the only thing holding him up. He makes small talk. Sakura doesn’t listen.

words are for people. she has felt less like a person every day in captivity. 

Deciding enough is enough she charges. Several bones clip through her shoulder, smaller finger chunks bury into the muscle of her forearm but she presses forwards. He immediately attempts to disembowel her. Sakura phases so quickly Uzumaki is nearly skewered, and this, this is what makes Kimimaro’s runny pink eyes widen with recognition. Opening.

He tries to follow Uzumaki and the Uchiha but Sakura nearly ends him for the lasp of attention. Her hands wrap around his throat and squeeze, though the angle is all wrong, too awkward to maintain— a sharp sting smartens and a tooth burrows somewhere within all the wrappings covering her hand. 

She pulls hard at his brittle dead hair and for a moment they are immobile. Sakura doesn’t lose her temper often, but, “I am sorry I can’t allow you to aid your friend Sakura Oasishu.” There is a tell tale ripping of flesh— Sakura leaps away, as a section of his forearm protrudes from the ground. She bares her teeth.

Dark flutters across his chest and crawls up his neck. 

“I would like to properly challenge you Sakura but we are... uncannily matched. And I must be going. Dark markings begin to swim like liquid under his skin, Kimimaro straightens. He reaches behind his back and pulls. There is a disturbing squelch as an overlarge lance appears. Except it’s his spine. The rest of his speech is garbled and she hardly has time to decipher because he lashes out. Nimbly dodges to the side. Though there is not a moment of requisite because with a twist of his wrist the spine’s momentum shifts. If he plans to bludgeon her to death he has another thing coming. 

“Is that it?” She growls, phasing through the next strike. Not a hair on her head is disturbed. As she watches Kimimaro, calm and impatient to be done with her, contempt begins to fester within. Tips of his ribs tear through his chest. The bone is smeared pink and the scent of blood only deepens as his tibia and ulna pop out, sheathed like swords. Dark markings flare, he’s transformed into some sort of creature. She doesn’t have enough chakra to pull off _that_ move— but, as she flickers between the handsigns and Kimimaro closes the distance between them

—she doesn’t really have to, not for what she has in mind. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Once upon a time there was a little girl who learned to control her temper. She had no father. Only a mother, and a resolve to protect her land. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His flesh drips, gooey and smoking in large unidentifiable puddles around their feet. The substance scalds her skin and fuses like hot wax as it comes in contact with her uncovered skin. _Such_ _a_ _large_ _quantity_. Sickly as Kimimaro may be, his bones are not. His sickness had no effect on his transformation either. It’s telling, all that remains of him is a skeleton and charred flesh sticking to what she assumes is his right femur. The remains hardly resembles a human. 

It’s glorious. Glorious as plumes of smoke bottle inside her lungs and tear at the tender flesh, glorious as an icy sensation spreads from the seal and drenches her entire body. She trembles and flinches as her body naturally reaches for more chakra, only for the foreign seal to lash. The two forces conflict and wrack her body as they war. With no remaining chakra to clear her lungs, Sakura only manages to rock back onto her haunches.

the skeleton, Kimimaro; or what’s left of him, falls to the wayside without her support. 

 

 

She’s choking. Dying. but whoever said retribution came without a price?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes bitch. I did that™️.
> 
> Soooo. We still got the general Sasuke retrieval set up but let’s be real— they were over their heads from the Get Go, even with a Nara. Like he’s smart but has little to no actual field experience? And uh, I know the whole point is to have LONG ASS convos and we suspend our disbelief and imagine it all happening in short periods of time but UHH I think tf not trick ass bitch. Times a wasting. 
> 
> While Shikamaru’s plans aren’t bad Sakura just has more field experience. Though she DOES have a major disadvantage that is hinted at... *think about her last chapter cough cough hint hint.* anyways. 
> 
> The sirens she hears when she sees Kimimaro is definitely Kill Bill sirens lmao. He had the potential to tip the scales in the Sand/Sound favor but his ass was on bed rest. She knows of him yada yada and blames him for her subsequent suffering when the shit hits the fan. I mean she isn’t wrong 🤷🏽♀️. 
> 
> Btw Kayuya hides and starts summoning her big Smash Bois instead of outright fleeing/gets captured. I used this scene to kinda reassert that YES Shikamaru is smart too— he caught on to her game quicker than Sakura did in this instance. I think both of these characters are highly intelligent so don’t act surprised y’all lol. Uhh thru the whole chap up until Kimi Sakura doesn’t particularly care, beyond the Hokage ordering her to return Sasuek, and she only cares about the order cos if she doesn’t follow through it threatens the treaty etc. 
> 
> Then like, she kinda has a melt down? Tho technically Shikamaru orders her to “follow”. Ehh. So you guys— vote on whether Sasuke should be captured or not. I lowkey got plans for either option but I feel like his ass would try to escape again either way— but then again, if there is a will there is a way. 
> 
> Also YES the Sand Siblings will be making an appearance. 
> 
> Thanks for commenting it rlly means a lot! 
> 
> Also: posting celebration of the end of Finals Week. I need a pick me up 😭.


	10. All But Blood

 

“Can’t say I’m impressed,” Kankurō readjusts his pack. “But that’s better than I expected.” 

 

 

His sister is a diplomat. Has taken to it much in the same way Gaara has apprenticed to Mebuki. The combined efforts of his siblings as diplomat and Kage in training, with ruthless persistence. He doesn’t know if this is what they wanted before. Temari is almost as standoffish as their father and Gaara was content with Sakura’s companionship. 

Was being the operative word.

Sakura... thinking of his teammate, his little sister in all but blood, alone in the Land of Fire —that makes him understand. 

It doesn't matter if Temari or Gaara wanted to be a diplomat or the eventual Kazekage. If that’s what needs to be done to get Sakura back— bring her home, they will do anything. He will do anything. He has none of Temari’s brains, she has a head for politics. She’s the unofficial leader of Team Mebuki. Well tested and brutal enough to smooth out her rough edges and command Konohagakure to take her seriously. She never says it, but with Gaara’s eventual Kazekage hood on the horizon and Temari as a diplomat no amount of pretty words on a scrap of paper can keep them from reclaiming what is theirs.

He just doesn’t understand where he fits in, in this plan.

Gaara is busy training with the Kazekage: filling out paperwork, attending Council Meetings, controlling his powers, and a lot more than Kankurō is privy to. 

Mebuki Oasishu wears the Kage hat well. Too well. Reporting to her aches. Her eyes are the color of soil disorted by a rippling stream, shifting.

She wears Sakura’s hitai-ate at her throat.

Under the firm guidance the village enters a period of reformation. Mebuki writes up provisions and systematically dismantles previous Kazekage’s laws, with intent. Every order is thorough yet broad as if she was always going to assume power. Kankurō is not sad to see the old laws go. Whatever qualms the Council may have had are tossed to the wind. He, Gaara, and Temari trail behind her as she emerges victorious time and time again. As soon as she was placed in office: the wind Daimyo reaffirmed ties with Suna, or as Kankurō understands it— life will get better. For civilians and shinobi alike.

Reaffirming the contract between the Wind Daimyo and Suna means they’ll hire our Suna shinobi more. More work means more money. More money means that they can fund programs to address poverty and improve the educational system. Easier said than done, but it’s a start. 

He respects Mebuki. Knows how hard she has fought for Gaara, that despite her greatest efforts she is fond of the siblings and her team, and what this reign is taking from her. Who it has taken from Mebuki. When Kankurō stands at attention waiting for her to acknowledge him he can’t help if _you’re_ _so_ _powerful_ _bring_ _Sakura_ _back_. 

He knows it’s too complicated for a simple solution. Sakura understood the risks and chose this. She would wallop him for dishonoring her sacrifice and thinking badly of Mebuki, but it’s because he thinks highly of the Kazekage that it hurts so much. A war hero, a stranger who pieced his family together, a woman who did not flinch in the face of leadership— amidst her strength even she has weakness. It’s not fair. 

“Kankurō.” 

He bows, “Kazekage. What’s a guy gotta do around here to join ANBU?”

Mebuki sets down her pen and nudges her paperwork aside. “Rosters full.”

“Throw me a bone you know I’m good for it.” He gives her a wide smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. This will be his role, his place in the plan. To protect Temari and Gaara, ensuring they will get Sakura back. 

“What you’re qualified for is my concern.” The tone of her voice makes it clear his little act isn’t cute. Well, he never said he was one for politics. Especially not when it comes to family. Absently Mebuki traces the grooves and intentions on Sakura’s hitai-are. Her brow furrows in thought, annoyance, and contemplation. The gesture makes his abdomen tighten. Kankurō is once more reminded of Mebuki’s loss— if it hurt this much for them how did she cope? 

“Isn’t it your dream to revitalize the puppet brigade,” she states. 

Kankurō rolls his shoulders. None of this is about what they want. It’s about family. Mebuki’s eyes narrow at the nonanswer. In single fluid stride she walks through her desk and towards the door. “Come on,” and he follows. A few Council members try to speak with Mebuki but the Kazekage waves them off. Incredulous by her aggressive silence Kankurō has no choice but to keep up.

“Train him on my behalf.”

Chiyo eyes the Kazekage, deep frown lines evident even as her face remains neutral. He doesn’t need to read her to know her answer. Kankurō has vied for an apprenticeship under Chiyo ever since he discovered puppetry. Has petetioned and come just short of begging to secure the spot. The old lady swore up and down he’d never be a student of her’s.

Now he’s not so sure. The intensity between the two women makes Kankurō to take a step back. Mebuki is not afraid of confrontation, but even he knows a bad run in with such an esteemed council member could make or break her Kazekageship. 

“Oh I’m too old to take on students,” Chiyo closes her eyes, gives them a baleful expression. And. The hag does look tired but she is one of the greatest puppet masters Suna has ever known. Nothing short of death will deter her dexterous fingers, not even old age. More farce than legitimate reason. “Though I am honored the Kazekage has come all this way to visit little ol’ me, isn’t that right brother?” She directs this at an old man sitting at a pond. Kankurō knows he’s just as renowned as Chiyo but his mind is one track, slightly overwhelmed by possiblity. 

Mebuki claps a hand on his shoulder. “He will surpass every student you’ve ever had.” 

Kankurō doesn’t understand the weight of this statement until much later. For now, he ducks his head. Chiyo might think he’s too prideful if he melts under Mebuki’s indirect compliment. There’s a moment of silence, and when he looks back up Chiyo is watching him. “If it were my wish to produce more prodigious students I would have done so.” Her snap smooths out, “I do not wish to smear his name.” 

It’s a dismissal if he’s ever heard one. “Interesting,” Mebuki scans the inside of the compound. “Kankurō, go assist Ebizō.” As he steps out of hearing range he can just make out “—adjust Suna ideology—“

Thirty minutes and a cup of tea later, they strike up a deal. When they depart Kankurō is the first apprentice Chiyo has taken on since the Third Shinobi war. 

 

Yui levels him with a light hearted sneer, administrating the anecdote in quick efficient movements. If his fingers didn’t feel like they were plunged in a vat of nerve attacking toxins Kankurō might have threw his hands up in surrender. He knows Yui well enough not to take her animosity to heart— Yui runs hot and cold with poison dipped senbon twice as dangerous, but as a rule of thumb one doesn’t take it personally. Unless one wanted her temporary ire to shift into something a whole lot more permanent.

“The Chiyo-sama?”

She demands, rapidly flips a single senbon between her fingers. “You,” Yui takes a deep breath, seemingly wringing in her temper. “Suna’s greatest Poison Mistress!”

Yui sits heavily on the counter, eyes nearly glazed with unspoken accusations. “I can’t believe it. After all this time she takes you.” Kankurō smiles awkwardly. Chiyo-sensei is primarily known as a puppet master but she also revolutionized the art form by utilizing poisons. To say that he and Yui admire her— for somewhat differing reasons— is an understatement. It’s sort of been a competition between the two, on who would make Chiyo crack. Who would she take as a pupil, the wanna be puppet master or the wanna be poison specialist? Kankurō can’t really claim this as a win, Mebuki had a huge influence but the way Yui is looking at him, is that she is definitely taking this serious.

“If it’s any consolation Temari wanted to know if you’d come over for dinner.” 

Yui flicks her senbon at his face. His finger twitches, slow and sausage like, but none the less a string of chakra slows the trajectory. He directs it into a loop around the room before back tracking into Yui’s awaiting hand. She clenches her fingers around the weapon. “Maybe she should have asked me herself.” The look she gives him also says, ‘the change of subject isn’t valid,’ but also she can’t help but talking bout the girl she’s sweet on. 

Kankurō winces. “You know she’s been busy— but...” 

“What she loves me? I’m really feeling the love.” 

She crosses her arms. “I get it. I miss Sakura too. But I miss my girlfriend and my sensei and I never see them unless I’m getting a mission. You know?”

and Kankurō gets it. He barely sees Gaara or Temari, but it’s gotten easier under Chiyo-sensei’s tutelage, but before he felt ignored. Without purpose. Kankurō isn’t a word guy. He doesn’t know what to say, to relieve this particular pain, but he knows laughter can’t hurt. “Well I hear absence makes the heart grow fonder.” 

Yui nearly takes out his eye.

 

If they were civilians they’d be considered orphans. The thought touched Kankurō sometime after dinner, a meal prepared by Gaara (oddly enough). Temari is all smiles and gruff dotage, and despite her earlier qualms Yui is putty in the sun for her. The careful practiced speech of his sister’s falls to the wayside. He wonders why she didn’t invite her teammates over sooner. Never one to be left out, Akira dominates the conversation. He and her debate the alleged superiority of battle axes over puppetry (there isn’t one!) and how many teeth they’ve knocked in (he’ll begrudgingly admit she’s the champ) and the surprising quality of Gaara’s cooking skills.

His brother shrugs off the praise. His silence isn’t consuming, it’s the kind Kankurō doesn’t mind. Gaara is trying and if there is one thing that has come from all of this— Kankurō values his family, they could be taken any time. Kankurō’s old fears are like a chronic injury, it twinges at moments but if he’s mindful they don’t debilitate him.

He sets aside a plate for Mebuki the way Temari used to for their dad. Being Kazekage requires long days and even longer nights. Their dad is dead. He stares at the plate he places on the counter and considers the fact, their dad is dead. He hardly ever ate with them. Didn’t have time. Like there wasn’t time to mourn his murder amidst the chaos. Somehow losing Sakura felt worse— felt worse, Kankurō isn’t know which is more— they didn’t recognize a foreign nin slipping into his dad’s skin ordering them to invade to pillage to revitalize and

they’re shinobi, so they aren’t orphans. Sometimes he looks at Gaara and something inside him twinges. It’s not exactly fear, no, something far messier. It’s the same thing that squeezes his throat when he looks in the mirror or when he sees Temari from the corner of his eye in the halls (he laughs and laughs because if he doesn’t Kankurō might cry). 

 

 

Chiyo-sensei is dark thoughts and darker words. She snaps on the drop of a hat and is quick to point out his flaws. She cackles at the sight of Crow and Ant, “From the ground up.” Which essentially means giving them up. “You could never surpass my apprentice using those.” Her lips press together, soft wrinkles lined with distaste. “Or have you already given up,” she drawls.

She never refers to him as her grandson. Only ‘my apprentice.’ Similarly Chiyo-sensei only calls Kankurō ‘boy’. It isn’t what he dreamed of. Thinks, maybe Yui _should_ have gotten the apprenticeship. Being dogged by an infamous legend shrouded by mysterious circumstances— it doesn’t bode well for anyone’s self confidence. Chiyo-sensei never really crosses a line though. It’s not really about Sasori, or maybe it is, but Chiyo-sensei isn’t like that. It’s more like Kankurō struggles with medical chakra and by extension poisons, since he’s always relied on Crow and Ant his craftsmanship could be better (to put it lightly), sparks are downright brutal without his team... Kankurō doesn’t measure up in his own eyes, so how could he ever in Chiyo-sensei’s?

 

 

He stifles a flinch as Chiyo-sensei examines his puppet. The thing is spindly, achingly crafted but nothing nothing compared to her work. Or Sasori’s. Chiyo-sensei tsks, sets the puppet down. “Aptly named.”

Kankurō glances at Ferret. It’s the most he’ll get from her, he’s sure— “Perfect for recon. Quiet clever. Your long distance threads are perfect for this type of work.” Chiyo-sensei gives him a stern look, that whittles down to his bones. “Not every puppet master has the finesse nor strength to manage long distance. Good job.” 

Nearly has to pick his jaw off the floor. She waves her hand lazily as she goes to sit by the pond. Gives him a smirk over her shoulder. “What, did you think I was going to bawl you out?” Before giving engaging in a conversation with her brother. 

It gets easier. Certainly not the content like tectonic plates, things slowly shift. He feels lighter. Maybe it’s because he knows Chiyo-sensei or maybe it’s because he’s improving. Or the faith he’s beginning to place in himself. 

 

 

 

 

 

Grains of sand waft through the air, prickles and catches at Kankurō’s eyes, stings the back of his throat. He pretends this is the reason why his eyes are tearing, why his vision restricts to the size of a pinhole. Not because of the kid— Nara, kneeling in front of his little sister’s crumpled body. Kankurō wants to push Nara aside and cradle her. Instead he steels himself, watches as he gathers her, stumbles into a standing position. Nara hisses as his forearm comes in contact with her neck. Nearly drops her. Kankurō springs to action. “What are you doing—“ 

The kid sets her down, clenching his arm. Pain laces his face but the defining emotion is— curiosity. and it takes Kankurō a second to see why. He laughs and laughs (because if he doesn’t, he might cry.) 

“Can’t day I’m impressed but that’s better than I expected.” and the heavens storm above, wind and sand tearing the ozone, and he hopes prays to his little sister’s oasis that Gaara and Temari will bring the traitor back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> I know it’s been awhile since I updated so my bad. I hope that I captured Kankurō okay lol. Uhm, at the end Shikamaru’s forearm gets burnt because Sakura’s seal is hot asf cos all of the built up chakra at that point. Also Kankurō is on his way of being Chiyo’s bamf apprentice lmao. Hopefully in future chapters I’ll give Temari and Gaara a go. Tell me what y’all think. Was the chap eh / ok / good ? I’m working on upcoming chaos so any critiques will help the future chaps. 
> 
> School kinda got intense and I’m trynna finish the year strong but you know how it is, as in HARD ASF. Anyway have a good day, SEE YA LATER BYE.


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